


The Time It Takes

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [66]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Pining, Stalking, bc bucky’s got a fucked up past in this alright, listen im slapping all the abuse warnings on this thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: It's been a quiet night, mild, and Steve is smiling when he steps onto the street outside the Smithsonian. Dawn is only just beginning to break over the buildings that tower above him, tinging the inky blue sky with the barest hint of pink; there's no one else on the ground yet, and Steve is looking forward to a pleasant ride home, alone with his thoughts.In the silence of the sleeping street around him, the sudden and piercing shriek of his ringtone is deafening, almost embarrassing. Steve pulls his phone from his pocket and accepts the call quickly, with barely a thought for the unknown number."Hello?" An unfamiliar voice speaks before Steve has the chance to. "Is that Captain Steve Rogers?"





	The Time It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> Just to re-emphasize the tags: Bucky’s had an extremely fucked up past in this, and it’s discussed at several points during this fic. So, please be careful when reading this!

It's been a quiet night, mild, and Steve is smiling when he steps onto the street outside the Smithsonian. Dawn is only just beginning to break over the buildings that tower above him, tinging the inky blue sky with the barest hint of pink; there's no one else on the ground yet, and Steve is looking forward to a pleasant ride home, alone with his thoughts.

In the silence of the sleeping street around him, the sudden and piercing shriek of his ringtone is deafening, almost embarrassing. Steve pulls his phone from his pocket and accepts the call quickly, with barely a thought for the unknown number.

"Hello?" An unfamiliar voice speaks before Steve has the chance to. "Is that Captain Steve Rogers?"

"This is he," Steve says cautiously. "Who is this?"

"My name is Officer Timpson," the voice tells him. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but Detective Hill asked me to call you and ask you to get down to the station right away. We've, uhh, picked up a friend of yours."

Steve's posture straightens. "I've just come off my shift, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Maybe less if traffic is good."

"Thank you," Officer Timpson says. "I'll let Detective Hill know and she'll meet you at the front desk."

* * *

Luckily, it's still early enough that even the early morning traffic isn't in full swing yet, and Steve makes good time to the station. He parks his bike, swinging down the kickstand as he dismounts. He's not running into the station, but he's definitely walking fast as he hits the doors. Detective Hill is waiting for him in the lobby, and Steve follows when she turns to walk toward a door. "What's going on? Who's in trouble?"

"Well, I'm hoping you know the guy," Hill says vaguely as she punches in the code to get through to the back of the station. "He told us to call you, said you were ex-Special Forces and you could take him, so unless he pulled that out of his ass." She hesitates in the hall outside of an interview room, and turns to look at Steve. "Rogers, this is serious. He's asked us not to disclose too many details so I can't tell you what's going on, but he needs to go into protective custody immediately. I know you got out. If you're not up to it, say so."

Steve frowns. "Protective custody? Why put him in a civilian's custody, then? I did get out, doesn't mean I forgot everything I knew. But I'm not witness protection or whatever."

Hill pulls a face. "I wouldn't have called you if we hadn't already worked together," she tells him. "He won't go with anyone else. It took us three hours to get him to even say your name. If you don't take him, we'll have to keep him in a cell here."

Steve nods slowly. "What's his name?"

Hill punches in another code and pushes the door open. "See for yourself."

Of all the people Steve expects to be sitting on the other side of that door, Bucky Barnes is not one of them. He looks like shit. His hair is a mess, he's got a split lip that's still oozing blood and a fresh bruise on his cheek, and he's cradling his left arm to his chest. He looks smaller than Steve's ever seen him, his eyes sunken and haunted, but he still manages to smile when Steve meets his gaze.

"Hey, Stevie. It's been a while."

It's only because Steve's seen far worse that he doesn't react - much. He's startled, and he knows it shows, but all he does is clear his throat and say, "Heya Buck. Yeah, it's been a long time. Didn't realize you'd kept up with me."

Bucky just shrugs, and then winces like it hurts. "I know some people," is all he says.

Hill looks between the two of them with some concern. "Do you want me to give you a moment alone?" she asks Steve.

Steve doesn't look away from Bucky as he nods. "Yeah. That'd be great."

"You've got five minutes," Hill tells him. "I need a decision soon." And then she's gone, and Steve and Bucky are alone for the first time in over ten years.

Bucky speaks first. "Look," he says, "you don't gotta do this. I know you've got a normal life now or whatever, and I can look after myself. Just get me out of here and I'll get out of your hair."

Steve laughs, but it's more humorless than anything. "No. I've seen... a lot, Bucky. While I was deployed, I mean. You're not the worst I've ever seen, but you're not the best, either. And it's been more than a decade since we've spoken, and now it's because you need to go into protective custody? If you think I'm not going to do whatever I can to help, then you're daft."

"I don't need your help, Steve," Bucky says, a sharp edge to his voice. "I only had them call you because you're the only person I know in this godforsaken city."

"You look like shit," Steve says bluntly. "Hill told me either you go with me, or you stay here, in this station, in a cell."

"I'm not gonna cut and run," Bucky tells him. "I'll stay out of trouble, go to court, the works. Just tell her you'll take me and then it's out of your hands."

"Uh-huh. And how would it be 'out of my hands' when you're supposed to be in protective custody with me?"

Bucky goes to shrug again and thinks better of it. "They won't need you for anything after you sign me out. I'm just supposed to stay with you. You won't actually need to lie."

"And when Hill calls or visits to check up on you? There's procedures to this, Bucky. The only reason they're even considering me for protective custody instead of the usual services is because I'm the only person you've agreed to stay with."

Bucky's jaw tightens. "I just want to get out of here," he says. "I don't want to drag you into this."

"Bucky," Steve says, as patiently as he can. "You asked them to call me. I'm already here, and I'm willing to help. Hell, I'm probably better equipped than most agents to have someone in protective custody."

"I don't expect anything from you," Bucky says. "And I don't want to owe you anything."

"I'm going to be worried about you either way, now that I know some something's happened with you," Steve reasons. "If you don't want me to worry, you can come with me. But we need to make a decision soon because Hill will be back in less than a minute."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You're not gonna get me out of here if I don't stay with you?"

Steve takes a moment to marshal his words. "Generally, when I saw people in as bad - or worse - a shape as you are, they were running from someone who had the resources, means, and motivation to track them down with a vengeance," he says quietly. "I get you out, let you go off on your own, you've got a much higher chance of dying or being drug back to whatever you just came out of than you do surviving."

Bucky sighs. "Guess I don't have much choice, then."

Right on cue, the door opens and Hill walks back in. She takes one look at the pair of them and folds her arms across her chest. "What'll it be, gentlemen?"

Steve looks at Bucky, waiting for him to tell Steve to get out, but when he just looks back at Steve with a raised eyebrow, Steve turns to Hill. "I'll help him. What do I need to do?"

Hill actually looks relieved. "Sign some paperwork, agree to a few conditions," she says. "He's not under house arrest, but he needs to be careful. So do you."

Steve nods. "You wouldn't have called me if that weren't the case," he reasons. "What conditions?"

Hill gestures to the seat opposite Bucky. "Why don't you sit down and I'll talk you through everything?"

* * *

Bucky is quiet on the way back to Steve's apartment for obvious reasons, but he still doesn't speak once they park the bike, nor on the elevator ride up to Steve's floor. He can feel Steve's gaze on him as keenly as the ache in his ribs, but he ignores it. He can't deal with Steve right now, doesn't really want to deal with him at all. He knows, though, that once they get inside Steve won't let himself be ignored any longer.

He's not wrong. "Go on," he says, when they've been through the door for all of thirty seconds and the intensity of Steve's gaze has been ramped up to a hundred. He hasn't even had time to look around. "Spit it out, whatever it is."

"Ten _years,_ Bucky," Steve says - though it's more of a sigh. "And the first thing I hear from you is 'Hey, I'm at the station and need to go into protective custody.' What the fuck happened?"

Bucky's laugh is harsh. "You don't wanna know," he says. "And that's not me trying to protect you, that's just fact. Ten years _plus_ and I don't hear from you _at all_."

"Pot, kettle," Steve shoots back. "Never had anything from you, even when your mom and sister were writing me while I was overseas."

Bucky shakes his head. "This was a mistake. I'd rather sleep in a fucking cell than stay here."

Steve sighs. "Well, you're here now. Might as well take advantage of it for the day, at least. The couch is pretty comfortable, and so's the bed; actually I think the couch pulls out into a bed. I just came off a night shift so I'll probably be going to sleep soon. I'll pull the couch out for you."

Bucky hesitates, but honestly, he's exhausted. Steve isn't the only one who's been up all night. "I'll get some sleep, but then I'm taking off," he says.

"Back to the station, I hope," Steve says dryly. "Bedsheets are in that closet to your left; grab a set, will you? Both my bed and the couch bed are the same size so it doesn't matter which you grab."

Bucky glares at him, but heads over to the closet anyway. "You're not my keeper," he says mildly when he returns to Steve's side. "You don't get to pass judgement on me or tell me what to do."

"The papers I just signed twenty minutes ago say otherwise," Steve points out as he finishes unfolding the bed. "At least about the 'tell you what to do' part. But it's mostly common sense; you think you can do a better job protecting yourself alone than with the help of ex-Special Forces or the actual police?"

"I think I can do better away from a guy who makes me want to punch him in the face," Bucky says, without changing his tone.

"Haven't you ever seen those cop shows where the two heroes still manage to get along despite that?" Steve jokes, but it falls flat. He clears his throat. "Anyway, the bathroom is the door with the crude picture of a toilet with a guy sitting on it - I really need to get Sam to clean up his niece's pictures, so if you see more wall art, it's hers - and obviously you can see where the kitchen is. Help yourself to anything if you get hungry or thirsty."

Bucky sighs. "Sure," he says. "Sleep tight, Steve."

Steve turns, heads for his bedroom - but pauses, glancing back at Bucky. "Look, this building is StarkTech, through and through. You're probably safer here than you would be at the station, even if your roommate is someone you want to punch in the face. If you still want to go back this evening, I'll take you, okay? But please, don't try to run off just because I stuck my foot in my mouth."

"Just go to bed," Bucky tells him, letting his own exhaustion bleeding into his voice. "I can't think about this right now."

Steve just nods. "Sleep well," he says before disappearing into his own room. 

* * *

Steve's sleep that day is more than a little restless; usually he passes out for a solid eight hours once he hits the mattress, but today he barely sleeps for two before he's up, unable to resist cracking his bedroom door to make sure Bucky's still in the apartment. The cycle repeats until almost five in the evening, when Steve finally gives up on pretending to still sleep and leaves his room. Bucky's still sound asleep on the couch bed when Steve passes him, and Steve has to take a moment to pinch himself, reassuring himself it hadn't all been some crazy dream. Shaking his head, Steve sets about cooking them breakfast, rummaging through his fridge for eggs and sausage. 

Bucky wakes up just as the sausages start to sizzle. He sits up with a groan, pushes his unruly mop of hair out of his eyes, and twists to peer at Steve over the back of the couch. "Time is it?" he asks, and Christ, his throat feels like sandpaper.

"Almost six in the evening," Steve answers. "Hungry?"

"Starving," Bucky answers without even thinking about it. He can't remember the last time he ate.

"Well, lucky for you I just got groceries. I've got plenty of eggs, sausages, and I've also got some fruit and cereal if you'd rather have that."

"No, that sounds great." Bucky's already half out of bed, and it's only once he's fully upright that he remembers he's only wearing boxers and the t-shirt he was in last night. He falters, his mind blank. Where did he put his clothes?

Steve glances over, freezing when he catches sight of Bucky's back. Bucky looked like shit last night, but nearly twelve hours later, he looks even worse. "I've got a first aid kit in the bathroom," he offers. "It’s got bandages and disinfectant. I can get you some clothes, too?"

"I'm fine," Bucky snaps. He's found his jeans and is in the process of pulling them on, grateful that Steve can't see his face. "I don't need your help."

"Bucky - " Steve starts, then stops, sighs. "A shower might help you feel better, at least," he settles on. "And I've got some clothes I was planning to donate anyway because I don't wear them anymore. How many eggs do you want?"

Bucky sighs, scrubs a hand through his hair, and finally turns to face Steve. "Whatever you want," he says. "Have I got time to wash up a little?"

"Yeah, you've got time," Steve says with a smile. "There's towels and washcloths in the bathroom."

"Thanks," Bucky says, hand already on the bathroom door. "Um. If you could leave some sweats or somethin' outside?"

"Will do," Steve assures him. "I think I've got some disposable razors if you want to shave, too."

Bucky winces. "No," he says. "Not yet. Thanks." He closes the door between them, and the lock clicks into place a moment later.

Steve leaves a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt of his outside the door before he returns to the stove. He keeps an ear out while Bucky is in the bathroom, and when the water cuts off Steve starts working on the eggs. When he hears the bathroom door open, Steve calls over his shoulder, "How do you want your eggs?"

"I know it's been ten years, Steve, but I'm pretty sure you can still only make eggs one way," Bucky calls back. He pads down the short hall and emerges into Steve's line of sight a moment later. The sweatpants are just a little too long, and they pool around his bare feet; his damp hair has been twisted up into a messy bun at the back of his head. "That kind of natural ineptitude for cooking is terminal. Sorry."

"Hey, I can cook them two ways now!" Steve protests with a laugh. "You want scrambled or over easy?"

"Over easy?" Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Let's see what you got, punk."

Steve freezes, an egg in his hand as he stares at Bucky in surprise. He clears his throat, face flushing as he turns back to the stove and cracks the egg. "Yeah, I can do that."

Bucky turns away too, and beats a hasty retreat toward the sofa. "I'll start putting the bed away," he mumbles. There's no way he can stay here again tonight.

* * *

Breakfast is a quiet affair; Bucky eats an egg and a few pieces of sausage, and downs three glasses of water. He looks better for having showered and gotten food in him, but he still looks rough. Once the food is gone and the plates are cleared away, Steve takes a breath and says, "How's your arm?"

"Fucked," Bucky answers bluntly. "Don't worry about it, it's old news."

"Those cuts aren't," Steve counters, nodding at the lines of red still visible on Bucky's neck and arms. "My neighbor, Sam - I worked with him. He and his partner were pararescue, they're both certified medics. Let one of them take a look at those, please? Just to make sure they aren't getting infected, or didn't nick anything important."

"You mean you don't wanna look at 'em yourself?" Bucky asks, a sharp twist to his mouth.

"I know first aid, but mostly field stuff to keep people stable until we could get them to a medic," Steve admits. "My job was usually covering Sam and Riley while they evacuated civilians. I could take a look, if you let me, but Sam or Riley would be better able to tell if anything small is serious."

Bucky sighs. "Fine," he says. "I know you're not gonna shut up about it."

"Infections are nothing to joke about," Steve says seriously. "I think Sam should be home by now; let me give him a call."

And that's how Bucky ends up sitting shirtless on the edge of Sam's and Riley's bed. Steve, thankfully, is in the living room with Riley; Sam stopped him from following them before Bucky could even open his mouth. Bucky likes Sam, even though he's currently looking at him with even more open concern than Steve himself has dared to so far. "Whatever it is you're thinkin’," Bucky grouses before Sam can even lay a hand on him, "just say it."

"I haven't seen anyone this bad since we got off active duty," is what Sam says, and it's only slightly an exaggeration. "But I figure you don't want to tell me the story. So, I'll do my best to stick to relevant questions. Let me start with the cuts, first."

Bucky makes a 'go ahead' gesture. "Do what you want."

Sam nods and brings his kit over. "Everything's probably going to sting," he says apologetically. "Need to get the dried blood off so I can see the extent of the damage."

"Whatever," Bucky says. "I have a high pain threshold."

Sam doesn't comment, just sets to work. They pass some time in relative silence, but Sam eventually breaks it to ask, "So, how long are you staying with Steve?"

Bucky hisses in a sharp breath when Sam pulls at something that went a little too deep, but catches himself a moment later. "I'm not," he says. "I'm taking off after this."

Sam hums. "You got a plan besides bolting?"

"You don't know me," Bucky points out, not unkindly. "I'm very resourceful."

"Everyone's resourceful when they need to be," Sam counters. "But that wasn't my question."

"I'll be fine."

"You got cash? Friends you can stay with? Health insurance if things go bad?"

Bucky falters, looks away. "No," he admits, so quietly. "But I'll be fine. It wouldn't be my first time sleeping rough."

"I haven't looked at your arm yet, but sleeping rough takes a toll on someone in good shape - and you aren't," Sam says, his own voice quiet but firm, no-nonsense. "You're thin, very little actual muscle, and you've got a decent number of older bruises, too. I don't know what you've been through, so I can't say anything for your mental or emotional state, but physically speaking, you're in a pretty bad way."

"Well, I don't want to waste my time away in a prison cell, so I don't see what choice I have," Bucky says tersely.

"Look, I know Steve can be an asshole, and when he's not being an asshole he's just being annoying, but he has a safe apartment, and the skillset to take down anything short of a long range sniper," Sam says. "From what he told me, you've been here less than twelve hours, and you came here right after coming out of something that was pretty bad. You owe it to yourself to take _care_ of yourself. Seems like that might be a lot easier with a roof over your head, even if your roommate is an annoying little shit."

"If he doesn't kill me first, I will kill him," Bucky says. "We don't exactly get along."

"You made it this long," Sam points out. "Look, I'm going to bandage these up, and the bandages should be changed once a day with new bandages and disinfectant for a few days. Stick around for another day or two, yeah? I'll go knock some sense into Steve, see if I can't get him to behave for forty-eight hours while those get a chance to get started healing. You still want to run after that, then I won't stop you."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "He's not going to listen--" he starts, but Sam's already closed the door behind him.

* * *

"You can wipe that look off your face," Bucky snaps as soon as they're back in Steve's apartment. "You heard your friend; I only need to stick around for a couple days."

Steve does his best to wipe 'that look' away. "Yeah, I did. But it still gives you time to figure out a plan beforehand. Trust me, the less you have to improvise from the start, the better."

Bucky huffs. "I don't care, as long as I'm not here."

Steve sighs. "Why did you even call me? How did you know to call me?"

"I told you," Bucky says, "you're the only person I know out here. I couldn't exactly call my mom, could I? Plus, you're qualified. I knew they'd trust you enough to let me leave with you."

"Let me guess, your mom did tell you about me, what I've been up to."

Bucky's look is unimpressed. "It wouldn't be very nice of me to reveal my sources," he says, "but no. It wasn't my mom." A moment if hesitation, and then, "I haven't spoken to my mom for years."

"That's why she couldn't tell me anything about you, then," Steve surmises. He hesitates, then asks, "Do you want me to call her? That you're alive, at least?"

"No," Bucky says, too quickly. "No. Don't tell her anything."

Steve nods. "Alright, I won't." They fall quiet again, and then Steve asks, "Is there anyone I should keep an eye out for? Someone who might be looking for you?"

The look Bucky gives him is downright filthy. "I won't be here long enough for that to matter."

"You'd be surprised how fast people get a start on looking to finish what they started," Steve says. "Humor me."

Bucky shakes his head. "It's not your concern," he insists.

"It is for at least the next forty-eight hours," Steve counters. "I can't do my job, which is to keep you safe, if I don't know anything about what I'm supposed to be keeping you safe from."

"If anyone comes bursting into the apartment trying to kill me, you can protect me from them," Bucky tells him. "Or, y'know, don't. Whatever works for you."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You know, you're not exactly convincing me I should let you leave instead of just taking you back to the station. I can't do my job if I don't know what I need to keep you safe from." 

Bucky sighs. "He's not gonna send anyone after me," he says. "It's not his style."

Steve considers that for a moment. "And you're relatively certain no one would act on their own, especially if they found out you've gone into protective custody?"

"They won't look that hard," Bucky says, with confidence. "Not yet. By the time they do, I'm hoping to have disappeared into the woodwork."

"You better have a damn good plan, if you're going to balance disappearing with needing to meet up with Hill to work on the case and make court dates."

"Look," Bucky snaps, "this is nothing to do with you. I had them call you as a favour, one I'm trying to pay back by getting out of your life. Can you stop complaining, please?"

"I'm not complaining, I'm trying to make sure you don't end up dead," Steve argues. "I know we didn't exactly end things on the best note, but - "

Bucky barks out a sharp laugh. "Please. Don't even try to act like you give a shit beyond whatever fucked-up sense of duty you have. Which I don't need either, by the way."

Steve just sighs. "Believe what you want, Bucky," he says tiredly, heading for his bedroom. "You always have."

* * *

Steve and Bucky ignore each other for the next two days. The atmosphere in the apartment is tense, and they don't say anything more than absolutely necessary to each other. Steve has no idea how to fix this, how to convince Bucky to stay - so, in the end, he isn't surprised when he hears the front door open and close while Bucky and he were supposed to be sleeping. If he were still a heavy sleeper, the way he had been back in high school, Steve never would've heard it. 

He's out the door less than a minute behind Bucky, and tails him from a distance. He refuses to feel guilty about it, arguing that _someone_ needs to look after Bucky since he clearly isn't capable of doing himself right now. 

His conscience is assuaged when he spots Bucky being herded by two men who look like trouble towards an alleyway that Steve _knows_ backs into an empty store - an empty furniture store, which means it has a loading dock in the back. Perfect for a kidnapping. Rolling his shoulders, Steve quickens his steps. 

Turns out he may have underestimated Bucky just a little, because no sooner has Steve reached the mouth of the alley than Bucky comes tearing out of it like the devil himself is on his heels - and barrels straight into Steve.

"Fuck!" he cries. "Fuck, oh my god, Steve?" He grabs Steve's arm so tight it hurts and tries to keep running. "Oh my god, move!"

Steve doesn't bother trying to talk right now; he can already hear angry voices from the alley, so all he does is turn on his heel and lead Bucky on a winding path through the streets, making sure they aren't followed. It takes nearly half an hour of walking for Steve to be satisfied they're safe for the moment, and then he finally turns to Bucky. "Who were they?"

"Old friends," Bucky says, the words dark for all that his voice shakes. "Fuck, I didn't think he'd want me brought in that bad."

Steve nods. "Alright. Let's keep moving," he says, already walking again. "You didn't get anything to eat before you left, did you?"

Bucky manages a half-hearted glare through the darkness. "You know I didn't. Stalker."

Steve ignores the glare. "There's a sandwich shop just up ahead, we can grab something there, give you a chance to sit down for a moment, recover from the adrenaline."

"It's the middle of the night," Bucky says, unconvinced. "And you just said we need to keep moving."

"It's Washington, D.C.," Steve counters. "There's always places open. And you can't keep moving with no food in you when you're about to crash from an adrenaline high."

Bucky sighs. "Fine," he says. "Lead the way."

The shop is small, but clean. Steve just buys a couple of bottles of water and some premade sandwiches, and he leads Bucky to a table that puts a wall at their back but affords them a good view of the rest of the floor as well as the door. "We'll eat then head back," Steve says. "Unless you're still set on trying to stay on your own."

Bucky puts more effort into his glare this time. "You don't have to be so smug about it."

"I'm not smug," Steve says evenly. "Or in any way happy that you got _attacked_ after leaving."

"But you're not surprised," Bucky knows, "and you're not mad I've just cornered myself."

"No, I'm not surprised," Steve allows. "But I worked ops against, literally, the worst of humanity. That includes human traffickers, and other abusers. Nothing much surprises me anymore."

Bucky's laugh is razor-sharp. "Well," he says, "you were right. Just like you always are."

"I really wish I wasn't this time," Steve tells him honestly, cracking his water bottle open and glancing towards the front windows for a moment. 

Bucky twists to follow his gaze, but barely relaxes when he sees the coast is clear. "Well, you were wrong about one thing," he says. "Didn't need you to storm in and rescue me, did I?"

Steve does smile at that. "No, you didn't. How did you get away?"

"Headbutted one of them in the face and kneed the other one in the nuts," Bucky tells him, a rare grin on his face. "Just like I taught you."

Steve chuckles. "Yeah, just like you taught me. That trick's saved me a lot of times over the years. Glad it saved you, too."

Bucky's smile fades and he looks away. "Yeah, I bet."

* * *

Sam is clearly surprised when he spots Bucky and Steve coming back into the building together, but Steve just shakes his head and Sam lets the matter drop for the moment. The walk back from the sandwich shop had been quiet, Steve focused on making sure they weren't followed, and Bucky focused on - Well, probably his own thoughts. They still don't talk much for the rest of the night, and in the early hours of the morning, Steve gets a call from Detective Hill. "Hey," Steve says, coming around the couch until he's in Bucky's line of sight. "That was Detective Hill; she wants us to come in, sooner rather than later. You up to going now?"

"No," Bucky says, but it's petulant. "Why?"

"She wants to make sure things are going well, and she said she's got some evidence she wants you to review, see if you can confirm some identities."

"Did you tell her?" Bucky demands.

"That you left? No. I would've if you were still gone, but since you're here..." Steve shrugs. "Do you want to tell her?"

"No way. I don't want to make this any worse." 

Steve nods. "Okay. Well, apparently she and another detective got some security tape, and wants confirmation of identity, if you're up for it."

Bucky suddenly looks so tired, but he nods. "Sure," he says. "Where does she want to do it? They're gonna notice eventually if I keep walking into a police station."

"She's already thought of that. There's a coffee shop a few blocks away she suggested meeting at this time."

Bucky nods again, almost to himself, and sighs. "You wanted to go now?"

"Might as well; we can go to sleep when we get back," Steve reasons. 

Bucky treats him to a tight smile. "Keepin' all kinds of strange hours these days, Rogers."

Steve inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Maybe, but it might work in your favor. Grab your shoes, then, and we'll get going."

* * *

It takes almost two hours, Hill asking him the same questions over and over again while Bucky gives the same answers, just to make sure he's _certain_. Steve's with him for some of it, gets sent to sit at a different table for the rest, and drills a hole in the side of Bucky's head with his gaze the whole time. Hill seems encouraged by this, pleased that she evidently made the right call, but it grinds on Bucky's nerves something awful.

Bucky is exhausted by the time they make it back to the apartment, both from Hill's relentless quizzing and the late hour. He just shakes his head when he sees Steve turn towards him out of the side of his eye. "Nope," he says, heading straight for the sofa bed. "No, not tonight, okay? Please."

Steve hesitates, but he can't just let it drop. "Bucky, please. What happened? How did _this_ happen?" He gestures to Bucky, to the left arm that he still favors, the one Steve is fairly certain was broken and never seen to.

"Stop it," Bucky snaps. "I'm not doing this. Not tonight, not ever. Just go to bed, Steve."

"Why?" Steve argues, unable to leave it alone. "What could you have _possibly_ done that's so awful?"

"What I've done is nothing to do with you," Bucky insists. "You don't need to know, and what's more, you don't _want_ to know. Trust me."

Steve wants to argue further, but Bucky is clearly not going to give him any more, and what he's just said... Steve sighs. "Alright. Do you want anything to eat, or do you just want to go to sleep?"

Bucky fights the urge to roll his eyes. "It's ass o'clock in the morning, Steve," he says. "Again."

"So, sleep," Steve surmises. 

"Yes," Bucky says. "Sleep." He glances pointedly towards Steve's bedroom, the door left ajar when he followed Bucky from the apartment. "If you wouldn't mind?"

Steve doesn't resist the urge to roll his eyes. "You can go on to sleep," he says. "I'm starving. If me cooking is going to bother you, you can take my bed for the day."

"Jesus," Bucky huffs, "fine." He heads into Steve's room without a moment's hesitation, and slams the door behind him for good measure.

* * *

Steve stays quiet while he cooks and eats, settling onto the couch bed when he's done. He wakes up when his bedroom door opens hours later, and after a moment's confusion, he blinks at Bucky. It hits him, then, watching Bucky walk around the kitchen corner, that Bucky is still wearing his clothes. "You don't have anything else, do you?" he asks. "Clothes, I mean."

Bucky looks down at himself, seems to see Steve's sweats and t-shirt for the first time. "Guess not."

"Want to go get some more clothes?" Steve offers. "Wal-Mart is open twenty-four-seven, and their prices are usually pretty good. I'm assuming you can't go back to wherever you were before to get your own clothes."

"That's not an option," Bucky agrees. He sighs. "What are the chances we walk right into another attempted kidnapping as soon as we step foot out the door? Those guys found me pretty quickly last night; they have to know I'm staying nearby."

"You stepped out alone," Steve points out. "I'll go with you; there's some back alleys we can use to get out to the street without getting noticed."

Bucky nods, looks away. "All right."

"Let's get something to eat, then we can go," Steve suggests. 

Bucky manages to laugh. "Christ, do you ever stop eating?"

Steve pats the bicep of one arm. "I have to maintain these," he says matter-of-factly. "I worked damn hard to get them, and I'm gonna keep them for as long as I can. They're pretty useful, too."

"Yeah," Bucky says, "I bet." He shakes his head. "Fine. Fuel up, and then we'll get goin'."

Steve doesn't bother with anything fancy for breakfast; he fries up an egg sandwich with mayonnaise and a few pieces of turkey bacon, wolfing it all down before he gets dressed himself. They leave the apartment building by the back alley; Tony had purchased this building specifically for the people he'd worked with, and had followed their advice to make it a safe place for even still-active agents to crash at for a few days. Steve guides Bucky through a maze of alleys until they emerge onto the streets several blocks away from his apartment building, merging seamlessly into traffic as they head for a bus stop. Wal-Mart isn't too far away, which allows them to be on public transportation as little as possible, which Steve definitely prefers. 

Once they reach Wal-Mart, Steve leads Bucky over to the men's section. "Go nuts," he says. "Just don't try to replace your _entire_ wardrobe at once, okay? We do still have to carry this all back to the apartment."

But it's now that Bucky finally realises the problem with all of this, the reason there's been discomfort niggling in the back of his mind that has nothing to do with the fear of being caught since Steve suggested this trip. He stalls at the end of an aisle, and can't quite look at Steve when he admits, "I don't have any money."

Steve isn't exactly surprised by Bucky's admission. "That's fine," he says. "If you want, you can consider it a loan? Or a gift, whichever makes you more comfortable."

Bucky does look at Steve then, his expression guarded. "You would do that?"

"Well, yeah," Steve says, suddenly feeling like he's on shaky ground. "I don't have anything to gain from _not_ doing it, and you deserve better than living out of my closet, most of which doesn't even fit you."

Bucky concedes the point. "All right," he says. "I won't get much."

"As much as you need to feel comfortable," Steve says coaxingly. "I only really spend money on groceries and the occasional gift. It won't hurt if you want to get more than just a couple of t-shirts and some sweats."

"Maybe some jeans, too" Bucky says, already moving towards a pair that's caught his eye. "And the basics, you know." He shoots Steve an almost desperate look. "I'll pay you back. Every cent. I swear."

"I believe you," Steve says with an encouraging smile. "Like I said, only limit is we have to carry this back to the apartment."

Bucky seems to steel himself, even goes so far as to square his shoulders. "All right," he says. "Let's shop."

Bucky grabs underwear and other necessities before he picks out several t-shirts and a couple of sweaters, as well as some sweatpants and a couple of pairs of jeans. They each have two bags to carry when all's said and done, and Steve's saved the receipt at Bucky's insistence. Privately, Steve has no intention of letting Bucky start paying this off until he's in a much better position, but he says nothing to Bucky about it for now. They don't really need another argument right now.

He leads them home from the bus stop by a different route, though he's no less careful about making sure they aren't noticed by human or technology. Once they're back in the building, Steve lets out a small sigh of relief. "There, made it," he says, satisfied, as he heads for the elevator to his apartment. "Do you want to go ahead and try these on, make sure they fit?"

"Sure," Bucky says, almost without thinking. "I bet that one pair of jeans makes my ass look great."

Steve nearly chokes on a laugh. "Alright," he says, grinning. "Let me know if you need any help."

Famous last words. Less than half an hour later, Bucky is trapped in Steve's poxy bathroom and all but growling in frustration. He just wanted to try on a few things, remember what it feels like to be a person again with opinions and choices and _nice things_ \- but now he's pushed himself too far, and once again, he has no choice. "Steve," he calls, voice slightly muffled by the wool wrapped around his fucking face. "Get in here."

The bathroom door isn't locked, but Steve still knocks as a warning before he enters - and then he stops, blinking. "Ah. Alright, hold on a second." He moves closer, studying the tangle of fabric for a moment before he grabs the hem of the sweater, starting to untwist it so that he can help Bucky pull it the rest of the way off. 

Bucky huffs a sigh of relief when, with Steve's help, he finally gets free, and he lets the sweater drop back onto the pile of clothes. "Sorry," he says, gesturing weakly to his left arm. "It gets stiff sometimes, locks up."

Steve nods in understanding. "Do you want me to help with the rest, or were you almost done?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm done. Everything's fine."

Steve nods again. "Alright. I've cleared out some space in the linen closet, if you want it? Or I've still got an empty drawer in my dresser if you'd rather keep your stuff there."

"Whatever's best," Bucky says. "Hopefully I won't have to stick around here for too long."

"Well, that will - uh, that'll depend on how fast the case and trial moves," Steve says, tripping over his words when it finally sinks in that Bucky is _shirtless_ right next to him. Any closer, and Steve would be able to feel his body heat. He'd been distracted by their conversation - by the fact that they'd actually been conversing, and not arguing, focusing more on trying to keep it that way than on actually looking anywhere but Bucky's face. 

Oblivious, Bucky looks at Steve with something like a smile in his eyes. "I guess it all depends on how good Hill is. You've worked with her before, right?"

Steve nods. "She’s good. I've helped with a couple of investigations. Usually with the apprehension of a suspect when she needed something a bit more... discreet than a federal task force."

Bucky laughs. "You, discreet? Yeah right." He shakes his head and makes to squeeze past Steve, his new clothes still in the bag on the floor. "I'll probably stick to the linen closet, but thanks."

Steve moves as much out of the way as he can. "I can be discreet," he protests. "I've run a lot of stealth missions!"

"It's a wonder you're still alive," Bucky quips. "Grab that bag, will you?"

"You can thank Sam and Nat for that," Steve says as he grabs the bag in question. "Could also thank Clint, but he's banned everyone from talking about that time."

Bucky turns to look at him then, something intense but unreadable in his eyes. An endless moment passes where they just look at each other - and then Bucky reaches out, snags the bag out of Steve's hand. "Thanks."

* * *

The rest of the night is almost pleasant, but when Bucky wakes up sometime the next day to Steve looming over him and asking if he wants bacon with his eggs, something inside of him snaps. "Don't you have a job?" he snarks, shoving his hair out of his face so that Steve can feel the full effect of his glare. "And I don't mean babysitting me."

"I've got plenty of vacation days stored up," Steve says. "And my boss knows I still take jobs outside of the night security. She's pretty understanding, since I worked with her aunt a couple of times."

"Right," Bucky says, unimpressed. "Well, my point stands. Maybe you don't have to work, but you must have to do _something_."

"Not really?" Steve answers. "The apartment is fairly clean, I don't have any other duties..."

"Steve," Bucky cuts him off, voice sharp. "Fuck. Off."

Steve blinks, then an offended look crosses his face. "Well, I can't do that right now," he points out, miffed. "We need to stay together. Best I can do is go to a different part of the apartment."

"You can leave the apartment," Bucky argues. "Hill didn't handcuff us together."

"No, she didn't," Steve agrees. "But we can't be too careful."

Bucky huffs and gets out of bed. "Steve," he says, low and serious, "I need you to get out of my face for an hour. Half an hour. Twenty minutes, I don't care. But if you won't go, I will."

"I can't leave you completely alone," Steve counters. "I'll go hang out in my room with the door open, but that's the best I can offer you."

Bucky clenches his teeth. "Door shut," he says.

"Then you go in the room."

Bucky looks incredulous. "I'm not gonna break out!" he cries. "I've learned that lesson, believe me. I just want you out of my face."

"Well why does the door need to be closed for that?" Steve asks. "Besides, what if someone tries to break _in_?"

"You'll hear it," Bucky says. "And if you don't, you'll hear me."

Steve sighs. "You _swear_ you won't leave the apartment without me?"

"I swear," Bucky insists. "I just want a breather."

Steve studies him for another moment before he sighs. "I'm not closing the door all the way," he says, tone clearly stating this is his final offer. "If I need to come out quickly, I don't want it in my way, and leaving it cracked will make it easier to hear if something goes wrong."

"You're so overdramatic," Bucky huffs. "Fine."

"Fine," Steve echoes. He grabs his already-finished food from where it's sitting next to the stove. "I'll talk to you later, then."

Bucky responds by getting back into bed and switching the TV on.

* * *

Forget twenty minutes; Steve gives him a full five hours, during which time he only leaves his room to go to the bathroom twice and to get a glass of water and something to eat once, and doesn't acknowledge Bucky at all. Bucky should be delighted - but around the three hour mark, he realises that Steve still knows exactly how to play him. His righteous indignation only lasts him until hour four, however, and when Steve finally emerges bang on hour five, Bucky is feeling pretty contrite.

"I'm sorry," he says, before Steve even has chance to speak. "I didn't mean to banish you for so long - or at all, I guess. This is your apartment."

Steve takes a moment to choose his words. "It is, but it's also your space now, for as long as you need to stay here. But my job - for the foreseeable future - is making sure you stay safe. If I'm getting overbearing, then tell me _before_ it gets to this point, please. I'm used to taking charge, leading the mission and working with people who can't take care of themselves the way you've already proven you can." It's clear he's been thinking about this while he's been in his room. 

Bucky fights the urge to roll his eyes, because if Steve can be a grown up about this then so can he. "Doesn't seem so long ago that you needed me to take care of you," he says, and okay, that's kind of a cheap shot. "Fine, there are some bad people after me. But you don't need to hold my hand. I'm not your mission."

"That's kind of the only way I know how to do something like this," Steve says ruefully. "But I'll try not to be as overbearing. Just, because there are dangerous people after you, keeping you safe is going to be my first priority."

"And pissing me off is your second," Bucky snarks, but he's smiling. "All right. Let's try and get through this without killing each other."

Steve rolls his eyes, but even still, he's grinning. "We’ll do our best."

* * *

Things are better after that. Steve and Bucky aren't _comfortable_ around each other, but they're no longer as on-guard nor as actively hostile towards each other when tensions get the least bit high. They live in this limbo for almost a week as they readjust to a 'normal' schedule in order to be better prepared for the upcoming case. Hill has assured them that the case is coming together well, will be ready to go to court soon, and since juries and judges don't usually meet in the middle of the night, Steve and Bucky get used to sleeping at night and being awake during the day again. 

They've just come back from another meeting with Hill when Steve decides to broach the subject of contacting Bucky's family again. He doesn't think that jumping right in will yield any kind of results, so he tries a slightly-angled approach. "When was the last time you talked to your family?"

Bucky doesn't quite flinch, but it's a near thing. "Years," he says, "I told you."

"Who did you talk to?"

"It's been years since I spoke to any of them," Bucky says, defensive. "Why are you asking?"

Steve shrugs. "I still think you should at least let your mom know you're alive."

"When was the last time you spoke to her?" Bucky asks, his eyes narrow.

"A couple of weeks before all this," Steve answers honestly. 

"Christ," Bucky huffs. "I hope you speak to your own mom as much."

Steve stills, and it takes a moment for him to get his voice working again. "No, I don't. Can't, unless I want to go buy a Ouija board."

Bucky looks at him sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"She died," Steve says, blunt. "Almost two years ago. Pancreatic cancer, but she didn't have any symptoms until it was too late to treat."

Bucky's mouth goes dry. "What," he says, and it's not even a question. "Fuck, Steve. _Fuck_."

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he says, not quite looking at Bucky as he starts rummaging through the fridge for something to drink. "It sucked. Still does."

Bucky's across the room in a heartbeat, and he grabs Steve's wrist so that he can drag him around until they're facing each other. "Don't," he says, suddenly desperate. His voice fucking breaks with it. "Steve, I swear I had no idea. I haven't spoken to anyone for over two years. I didn't-- If I'd known..."

"What would you have done?" Steve asks - the question isn't demanding, but tired. "We hadn't spoken for going on nine years when it happened. What would you've done?"

Bucky just shakes his head, because he doesn't know. He wants to say that he would have come home, been there for Steve in a heartbeat - but they both know that's not true. "Was it peaceful?" he asks after a moment, his voice barely a whisper.

"As peaceful as it could be," Steve answers. 

Bucky swallows hard. "I'm glad," he says. "Steve, I'm so sorry."

Steve snorts. "Of course you are. That isn't any more helpful than all the times I told you that," he says, heated. "But I'd like to think I handled my mom's death better than you did your dad's."

Bucky drops Steve's arm, recoils like he's been slapped. "I-- Yeah," he manages. He can't meet Steve's gaze. "Yeah, okay. That's-- that's good, that you..."

Steve sighs and takes a step back, putting distance between them in more ways than one. "That was uncalled for, sorry. I'm gonna - " He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the bathroom before he turns, disappearing into his room only long enough to grab a change of clothes before the bathroom door shuts behind him, the shower starting up almost immediately. 

Bucky's sitting on the couch when Steve emerges over half an hour later, the sheets and the pillow folded and piled neatly at the other end. He twists to look at Steve at the sound of the bathroom door opening, distantly acknowledges the cloud of steam and the flush on Steve's face that means he must have run the water hot, too hot. Bucky swallows and makes himself meet Steve's gaze. "I really loved your mom," he offers, soft and achingly sincere. "She was really great."

Steve's throat still feels raw when he swallows. "Yeah, she was," he says quietly, moving closer to sit in the armchair. "She was really fucking great."

"Yeah," Bucky agrees, and then: "Get over here, Rogers, Christ."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"'Cause that chair is fuckin' awful and you're making it weird," Bucky tells him. "If you don't want to sit with me in awkward silence while I watch _Dr Phil_ then by all means don't, but don't torture yourself by sitting in that chair."

"This chair is fine," Steve protests - but even as he's speaking, he's standing up. "Fine. Can't believe you still watch this shit, though."

Bucky chuckles, reaches for the remote. "It's funny," he says. "Gotta remind myself that some other people's lives are worse than mine. Or at least far more tragic."

Steve snorts at that, but there's a slight smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I get that. Spent most of the time after coming back watching light-hearted stuff, and a lot of Disney movies, too. Needed that reminder that a lot of folks get that happy ending they're looking for, maybe I could, too."

Bucky glances at him, quickly, and then away. "You still feel that way?"

"Sometimes," Steve admits. "Got a lot easier to remember, though."

"That's good," Bucky says, nodding almost to himself. "Look, it's starting."

* * *

Watching trashy television becomes a thing after that. Every day, the two of them settle in on the couch and trash talk whichever program they're watching, and every day, they get a little closer, physically and otherwise. It's throwing Steve off a bit, how close this is becoming to what they had so long ago. 

They're in the middle of an episode of _Divorce Court_ when the doorbell rings. Steve gets up to answer it, and he curses under his breath when he realizes who's on the other side of the door. "Brace yourself, Bucky," Steve calls over his shoulder before undoing the lock and opening the door. "Hi, Nat. Didn't think you were back in the area yet."

Natasha's smile is all kinds of smug. "We got finished up a little earlier than expected, thanks to yours truly," she says. "Thought I'd drop by and see how your holding up." She steps past him and into the apartment uninvited, already peeling her jacket off. "Sam's been keeping me updated, because he actually calls me."

"I've been busy," Steve protests, following Natasha into the apartment. 

"So I've heard," Natasha says archly. "Are you going to introduce me?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "Bucky, this is Natasha Romanoff; Nat, this is Bucky Barnes," he says, gesturing to each person in turn. 

"A pleasure," Nat assures Bucky before he has time to speak. "I've heard a lot about you."

Bucky grits his teeth. "Knowing Steve, it's probably all true."

Natasha's grin is sharp. "It's not all from Steve."

Bucky pales.

"Well that might be a new record," Steve says dryly. "Nat, quit scaring him, for the love of God."

Natasha sighs. "Fine," she says. "For now." She kicks off her shoes and curls up in that god-awful armchair like she owns the place, smiles at Bucky in a way that does nothing to ease his sudden nausea. "So Barnes, I bet you have tons of great stories about Steve."

Bucky swallows hard. "Um."

"I have a few, but sadly most of the time we've spent together involved him being terribly heroic. Frankly, I could use the ammo."

"Lord, give me strength," Steve mutters. "You want anything to drink while you're making yourself at home, Nat?"

Natasha beams at him. "Tea, please."

Steve moves into the kitchen, and Natasha turns her expectant gaze back onto Bucky. Okay, he thinks. He can play this game. "Has he ever told you about the time he saved Andy Beckett from a prank and ended up turning himself into a disco ball?"

Natasha's expression lights up at the same time as Steve groans. "No, he never did," she says, leaning forward. "But that sounds like something he'd do."

Bucky grins. "Sophomore year," he says. "Some of the seniors were targeting this kid, which makes a nice change, actually, because mostly they're just after Steve. But they thought this kid was gay, right, and he wasn't very smart, so they invited him to this empty classroom at lunch and he just goes. Steve, you saw them setting up, right?" He goes on without waiting for Steve to answer. "And Steve can never leave well enough alone, so when he sees it's Andy they're going after, he comes flying up and shoves the kid out of the way - just in time for this fuck-off bucket of glitter glue to land right on his fuckin' head."

Natasha breaks into peals of laughter. "Oh my god," she says, breathless. "How long did it take him to clean it off?"

"He was doing a solid Edward Cullen impression for the rest of the day," Bucky tells her. "And I was required to play bodyguard for the rest of the _week_."

"It took that long to get rid of all the glitter," Steve calls from the kitchen. "And to be fair, Buck, you were just as much protecting those seniors from me as you were protecting me."

"Yeah, you were a scrappy little bastard," Bucky agrees. He turns to Natasha and stage-whispers, "You know how little he was back then, right?"

Natasha grins. "I've heard he was a lot smaller, but he never gave any numbers."

Bucky gets to his feet obligingly and holds his hand up a proportionate distance from the floor. "About here," he says - but then hesitates and lowers his hand half an inch. "Maybe here, start of sophomore year. You didn't really start shootin' up until the end of junior year, right?" 

Steve sighs as he comes back into the living room bearing drinks. "That's right. Ma always said I was basically a chihuahua in a human's body."

Bucky flinches and sits back down, can't quite meet Steve's gaze when he takes a mug of tea from him. "Sounds about right."

Natasha looks from Bucky to Steve, who shakes his head slightly. Deciding to leave it for now, she asks, "So, what about when he was just a little shrimp? Surely you've got some good stories from when you two were kids."

Bucky snorts. "Of course. The time he punched Michael Castle in the nose because he was hassling a dog in the street and got the snot kicked out of both of us. The time Bradley Jacobs dared him to climb the biggest tree in our local park when we were eight and he fell out of it and broke his arm..." He catches Steve's gaze and grins. "I could go on and on."

Steve rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "Yeah, yeah, I was a troublemaker."

" _Was?_ You still are, Rogers."

Bucky's eyes widen mockingly at Steve before he grins at Natasha. "There's gotta be a story there."

"Oh there is," Natasha assures him even as Steve groans again. "Did you know he once took down four men with a trash can lid - that he then stepped on and got himself in the junk with?"

"Oh my god," Bucky huffs. "Skills, Steven."

"I was bleeding!" Steve protests. "One of those guys stabbed me!"

"What about when we were in training together?" Natasha asks, a gleam to her eyes. "I've got _plenty_ of stories from then."

Bucky beams, holds one hand up to silence Steve while he points at Natasha with the other. "Go."

"Let's see," Natasha says with obvious relish while Steve glares. "Well, steve had basic army training, and so did some of the rest of our squad, but others, like me, had training... elsewhere. So we knew how to fight and how things worked, but we needed to learn how to fight together. They locked us all in a room, once, and told us we weren't eating or drinking anything that wasn't in our ration packs until we got out - but they never said how we had to get out. Well, they blockaded the doors, turning this into a crumbling-building sim, so Steve threw me into the vents and told me to go steal food and water until they got us out. Our commanding officer was furious, but Steve pointed out that I was one of the only ones small enough to fit through the vents, and I was the stealthiest. If we were trapped in a crumbling building, most likely we were surrounded by hostiles so who ever went out had to be stealthy. The next time they did it, the vents were sealed - so Steve helped Dernier build a small bomb."

"A fucking bomb?" Bucky demands. "No way."

"Just a small one," Steve says weakly, but Natasha is on a roll. 

"Oh yes. Dernier was a wiry little Frenchman who was basically French Seamus from Harry Potter. We figured out there wasn't a way out short of sheer muscle, and then Dernier remarked that if we were willing to sacrifice some supplies he could just blow the door and rubble out of the way."

"Seems logical," Bucky says, but his eyes are laughing at Steve. "Bet that went down a treat with your superiors."

"They literally made me scrub the bathrooms with a toothbrush," Steve admits, but he's laughing as he says it. 

"I think the only reason they never kicked you out was because of the flagpole and the grenade thing," Natasha remarks. 

Bucky looks between them, still laughing. "What?"

"We were doing a ten-mile run, and at the halfway point our officer - who was riding a Jeep, the dick - pointed out a flagpole and said whoever brings him the flag gets to ride back the last five miles. This was the hottest day of the summer, and we'd been up for over six hours already, running and training the whole time. So everyone - except for Steve - tries to scramble up the pole, and fails miserably. I still think the bastard greased it," Natasha grumbles. "Anyway, Steve was watching us all, and then when we finish making asses of ourselves, he walks closer, looks at the pole for a couple of moments, and then _yanks_ the pin we all thought was rusted into place out of the bottom of the pole."

Steve chuckles at the memory. "To be fair, I almost couldn't do it," he reminds Natasha. "But I figured it'd be easier to make the flag come to me if even _you_ couldn't get up there to it."

Natasha waves a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. But then - and here's the part that really made an impression on Colonel Phillips - he gave the flag away. Gave it to Morita, who'd twisted an ankle trying to one-up Dugan around the two-mile mark."

"Christ," Bucky huffs. "You always were a bleeding heart, Steve."

"He would've literally been one if the grenade two days later had been live."

" _Natasha._ "

Bucky's gaze turns sharp. "What grenade?"

"Colonel Phillips wanted to see what we would do in an ambush sitiation," Natasha explains. "So he tossed a dummy grenade, pin pulled, into the middle of the yard we were sparring in. All he did was yell, 'Grenade!' Then he just stood back and watched while Steve dove on top of the grenade and covered it with his own body."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bucky tries to laugh, but it sounds strained. "Did you have some kind of death wish or something?"

"Everyone else was running away, but there wasn't enough cover," Steve says, sounding resigned and sheepish. "Grenades have a short detonation time, no one can run completely out of the range of the shrapnel in that time."

"So you thought you would use your _own body_ to catch it all for them?"

Steve shrugs. "Better chance of survival without injury to the rest of the team. I'd have done the same if we'd been out in the field."

"Let me guess," Bucky says, turning his stony gaze on Natasha. "That wasn't the last time he almost got himself killed trying to be all heroic?"

"No," Natasha says, meeting Bucky's gaze head-on, eyebrow raised - and Steve suddenly has a very bad feeling about what's about to come out of her mouth. "But why does it matter so much to you?"

Bucky opens his mouth, snaps it shut, and opens it again. "It matters," he says shortly. "It's always mattered."

"Natasha, that's enough." Steve's tone is hard, unmoving, and when he stares at her it's just short of a glare. 

"You're not my captain anymore, you can't order me around," is her reply, but she subsides nonetheless. 

The conversation turns to easier topics at that point, and Bucky takes the first opportunity to slip from the room and lock himself in the bathroom, in sore need of a breather. Unfortunately, Steve is granted no such reprieve.

"What the fuck, Rogers?" Natasha demands as soon as Bucky is out of earshot. "What were you thinking, taking this on?"

"I wasn't," Steve admits. "I didn't really think about it. Bucky needed help, and he - Jesus, Nat, he looked like someone had just gone after him with a meat tenderizer."

"He still does," Natasha points out. "That arm looks like it's been broken more than once."

Steve sighs. "I know. But he refuses to go to the hospital - it was a bitch and a half to get him to agree to let Sam take a look at him."

Natasha shakes her head. "Steve, I know you still care about him, but that man has more damage than you need right now."

"I can't turn my back on him," Steve says firmly. "If he's not with me, then he's stuck in a cell at Hill's station because he refused any other kind of protective service. Hell, he even tried to leave here, and didn't make it more than two hours before whoever he got away from found him again and tried to take him back."

"Then you know there are people coming for him," Natasha says. "This is dangerous, Steve. I know you can handle yourself, that's not the issue - but I don't think you can handle losing him again."

"I couldn't handle it if he died, or got hurt even worse, and I could've done something to help," Steve says bluntly. 

"This isn't high school anymore," Natasha tells him . "He's a different person now. I know you were in love with him back then, but--"

"But he still needs help," Steve says sharply. He takes a breath, softens his tone before continuing, "I appreciate the concern, Nat - but you're not telling me anything I haven't told myself several times already. But that's what it comes down to: he needs help, and I'm in a position to help him."

Natasha looks like she wants to say more, but the toilet flushes at that moment, and they both know Bucky's return is imminent. She sighs. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

Steve shrugs. "You and me, both."

* * *

Natasha takes her leave shortly after to go bother Sam and Riley, and Steve can't help but let out a sigh of relief once she's gone. "I love her, she's a good friend and brilliant agent - but she can be _intense._ "

Bucky's back to looking like he wants to crawl out of his own skin again; he nods. "No shit," he says. "You've known her a long time?"

"Nine years," Steve says with a shrug. "She's saved my ass more than once. And has a weird penchant for trying to set me up on dates."

Bucky looks down, clenches his left hand into a fist with some difficulty and then relaxes it again. "And you told her all about me."

"Not everything. But you were my best friend, and then we were dating... A lot of my best stories involved you."

Bucky nods, still doesn't look up. "Is it... y'know, between you two?"

Steve barks a surprised laugh. "No, not at all. We're friends, and the closest thing to 'romantic' we've ever been was posing as a couple for a mission. When it over she declared she had to go wash all of the 'Rogers cooties' off of her."

"She's protective of you," Bucky observes. "Bet she told you how much of an idiot you are for letting me in, didn't she?"

"She is, and she did," Steve admits freely. "But you needed help. I wouldn't turn my back on you."

"She probably knows more about it than you do," Bucky points out. "No way she came here to 'see how you're holding up' without brushing up on all the facts first."

Steve considers that for a moment. "She probably does," he admits. "She always seems to know everything. But she was our best intelligence agent, so..."

"So maybe she's right," Bucky says. "Maybe you should listen to her."

"If she felt like I was in that much danger from whoever's after you, she would have told me everything," Steve says. "She's not worried because of what you're involved in. She worried because it's _you,_ and she doesn't want me getting hurt because of our past."

Bucky does look at him then, his gaze thoughtful. "Is that a concern?" he asks.

Steve shrugs. "It might be. You said it yourself, I'm a bleeding heart. You're my childhood best friend that I used to date, we broke up under less-than-ideal circumstances, and now you're living with me. Hell, this could be the plot to some cheesy romance novel or Lifetime movie."

"But it's not either of those things," Bucky says. His gaze hardens. "One way or another we're going to go our separate ways when this is over."

"I know that," Steve says, defensive. "And Nat does, too. Like I said, she's worried about me forgetting that."

Bucky's smile is anything but sincere. "Well, don't."

* * *

It takes them a couple of days to find their rhythm again - surprisingly enough, it comes back the day Steve always gets surprised by, even though it's been ten years. Bucky's been acting odd - more odd than the past few days, that is - and eventually Steve confronts him about it. 

"You okay?" he asks, bringing Bucky the drink he'd requested a few moments ago. "You've been tense and twitchy all day. Need some more time to yourself?"

"What?" Bucky asks, distracted. "No, no. Um. Maybe? I just." His gaze skitters away from Steve's, and he takes a breath. "I saw the date today on your phone. I didn't realise... It caught up on me."

"Yeah," Steve says, nodding. "It does that to me every year. Like someone tossed a bucket of cold water on me."

"Really?" Bucky looks up. "You remember?"

"Well, it _is_ also the day we broke up," Steve points out. 

Bucky scrubs a hand over his face. "Fuck," he says. "I really did break up with you on our anniversary, didn't I? I've spent the last ten years trying to forget that."

"Mhm," Steve hums. "That was a pretty dick move. I mean, I understand the pressure you were under, how shit things were in general, but still."

Bucky shakes his head. "Steve, I'm sorry," he says. "It never should have gone down like that. I was a real asshole."

"You were," Steve says evenly; it's the truth. "Didn't change how much me or your family loved you, though."

"Don't," Bucky says, almost begs. "I don't deserve that."

"You do," Steve says firmly. "You always did, Bucky. Acting like an asshole because you were going through a rough time doesn't change that."

"It doesn't change the things I said, either," Bucky argues. "The way I spoke to you, the way I went into it knowing exactly how to cut you to your core. It doesn't change the things I've done since."

"Your family still loves you," Steve counters. "They're worried about you, because they hear from you so rarely. We were best friends for ten years before we even started dating, you weren't enough of a dick to erase all that. Long as you haven't killed anyone, I don't think anyone of us would stop caring about you."

"Can we not talk about this?" Bucky asks. "This is why I didn't want to bring it up. Christ, it would be easier if you fuckin' hated me. You _should_ fuckin' hate me."

"Well, we don't. Just - you should know that." Steve gives him a moment for that to sink in before asking, "What would you rather talk about, then?"

Bucky laughs. "Whatever you want, Rogers. Just not that."

"You see the new DC movies? I've got them all on DVD."

"Of course you do." Bucky shakes his head, huffs a soft laugh. "Sure. Why not."

Steve grins, getting up to fetch the discs. " _Batman vs Superman_ isn't that great, but _Suicide Squad_ is good except for any scene the Joker is in, which is only about fifteen minutes or so. _Wonder Woman_ is amazing, beginning to end, and _Justice League_ is also good."

"Whichever you want to watch," Bucky says. "I'm not exactly up to date on any of this."

Steve considers that. "Let's start with _Suicide Squad,_ then," he decides. "They pretty much go in chronological order with their release dates. You're not going to miss anything by skipping _Batman vs Superman._ "

"Who wins?" Bucky asks, curious despite himself.

Steve makes a face. "No one really _wins,_ but Batman survives the fight. He almost kills Superman, but they realize Lex Luthor was manipulating them and team up against him instead. So Luthor activates his backup plan, a genetically engineered monster that neither Superman, Batman, nor Wonder Woman can defeat until they realize it's weak to kryptonite. Superman kills it, but it gives him a fatal blow, too. Batman, being the angsty fucker he is, blames himself, but the movie ends there. It all gets resolved in _Justice League,_ though."

Bucky blinks. "Right," he says. "So, _Suicide Squad_."

It's a good movie, actually. When asked later, Bucky will tell Steve that he enjoyed it, that it was far better than he was expecting. But something about it makes him uncomfortable. The way the Joker looks at Harley Quinn in all their scenes together, the way she follows him without question, declares her undying devotion at any given opportunity. It isn't long before he's curling in on himself like he can't help it, pulling his feet up onto the couch and tucking his hands between his knees and his chest - and of course Steve notices.

Steve pauses the movie after Joker goes down with the plane, looking at Bucky with concern writ plain on his face. "You okay?"

If possible, Bucky curls even tighter into himself. "Yeah," he says. "I'm just cold."

Steve reaches behind the couch to grab a blanket off the chest behind it. He hands the blanket to Bucky. "Here. That can't possibly be a comfortable position for very long. Want me to grab anything else while the movie's paused?"

Bucky accepts the blanket with murmured thanks, and carefully tucks it around himself before turning resolutely back to the TV. "I'm fine now. Let's just watch the movie, okay?"

Steve hesitates for a moment, studying Bucky intently. He feels like there's more going on, but... He doesn't think Bucky would tell him if he pushed. So all he does is nod and resume the movie. 

A few moments later and Bucky finds himself speaking without his permission. "He's not dead, is he?" he asks, his voice quiet. "The Joker."

Steve glances over at Bucky for a moment before he shakes his head. "No. But they don't find that out until the end of the movie, and it's never explained how he survives."

Bucky grimaces. "And she goes back to him," he says. "Doesn't she?"

"Yeah," Steve says, watching Bucky from the corner of his eye. "As soon as she realizes he's still alive."

"Yeah," Bucky sighs. "I thought so."

"Most people seem to realize it's not a good relationship," Steve says thoughtfully. "Margot Robbie - the actress who plays Harley - was always really adamant about that during interviews, how Harley is so caught up in the Joker and he's manipulated her so thoroughly she doesn't think about it, how wrong the whole thing is."

"It's hard," Bucky tells him. "It becomes normal, after a while. You can't see the wood for the trees."

Steve considers his response, then says, "That's what a lot of abuse survivors said, too, whenever it came up online."

Bucky takes a breath, nods. "Yeah," he says. "I guess they would."

"She realizes it, in the comics, though. Gets away from him, realizes how shit he was."

"Yeah?" Bucky smiles. "That work out okay for her?"

Steve nods. "She finds some people who support her while she gets back on her feet, and she ends up doing pretty well for herself."

"That's great," Bucky says. "Good for her."

* * *

There's something new and tentative between them after that movie marathon. It's almost familiar, and all the more terrifying for being so. It takes a couple of weeks, but eventually Steve decides to put it from his mind. It wouldn't do any good to worry over it, and it's not as though Bucky feels the same. 

Still, when Sharon sends him a flier and two tickets to the National Air and Space Museum at the Smithsonian to see their newest exhibit, Steve doesn't hesitate for more than a moment before rapping his knuckles against the side of the couch where Bucky is sitting. "Hey, feel like getting out of the apartment for an afternoon?"

Bucky looks up at Steve through the messy sweep of his hair. "To do what?"

Steve shows him the tickets. "There's a new exhibit at the Smithsonian - they have models and speakers to talk about how a lot of the machines at the Air and Space Museum were built and run."

Bucky grins. "And we can go? I love all that shit."

Steve nods, a smile growing on his face. "Yes, we can go. We just need to be careful, maybe put a hat on you."

"And a fake beard?" Bucky asks, a mischievous light in his eyes.

Steve laughs. "Sure, if you want to stop by a costume store on the way," he chuckles. "I think a hat and getting your hair out of your face, maybe pulling it back, and putting you in some slightly baggy clothes will be enough. I might have some stretched-out shirts you could wear."

Bucky wrinkles his nose. "Great, your worn out hand-me-down workout gear. When exactly did you get big enough that your old sweats would be baggy on _me_?"

"The army. And I think it's a combination of I got bigger and you got smaller," Steve says lightly. 

Bucky winces and looks away. "All right," he says, more defense than acceptance. "When do you wanna go?"

Steve mentally curses himself, but shrugs. "After lunch, maybe?"

"You wanna go today?"

"Or we can go anytime until - " Steve checks the flier " - next Saturday. That's the last day."

"No," Bucky says, sitting up. "No, we can go today."

Steve grins. "I'll grab you a shirt and some pants."

* * *

Getting them out of the apartment might just be one of Steve's best ideas to date. It's no secret that Bucky's been going a little stir crazy, but even so, he thinks that the way his shoulders literally sag with relief the instant the fresh air hits his face tells Steve a lot more about how isolated he was even before he moved he's really comfortable with him knowing. Steve takes it in stride, though, and chatters aimlessly about architecture and other arty shit as they make their way through the city.

The exhibition itself is amazing. Bucky bounces from display to display, forgetting any awkwardness that still lingers between him and Steve in favour of pointing out things that interest him or asking questions that neither of them know the answer to. From the way that Steve follows him around with nothing but a fond smile, Bucky supposes he doesn't really mind.

"Remember when we went to that museum on a school trip?" Bucky asks when he zones out halfway through a recording about gravity. "That kid, Michael whatshisname, wouldn't stop pressing buttons. He had all the speakers going at once."

Steve chuckles quietly. "He had a chaperone assigned specifically to him for the rest of the trip," he remembers, taking in the way Bucky's staring at the exhibit in front of them with something akin to awe on his face. Steve doesn't want to think about how long it's been since Bucky got a chance to get out and enjoy himself without worrying too much. 

Unfortunately for Steve, Bucky answers at least part of that question with his next breath. "Don't think I've been to a museum since," he says. "Definitely never been here."

"Well, I do work here," Steve points out as mildly as he can after the way that admission just sucker punched him in the solar plexus. "I can get a discount on tickets if you want to come back, check out the other museums."

Bucky looks at him with surprise, as well as barely-guarded hope. "You'd do that?" he asks.

Steve tries to act nonchalant as he shrugs; he fails miserably. "Yeah," he says with a small smile. "Can't go every day, and we'd still have to be careful, but yeah."

Bucky's smile is small, pleased, and entirely worth it. "I'd like that," he says. "Thanks."

Steve's heart does something worrying in his chest, but all he does is grin wider at Bucky. "You're welcome," he says; they stay like that for a couple of minutes and then, "Come on, we aren't even halfway through yet."

Bucky's smile widens. "All right," he says. "What do you want to look at next?"

"They've got an exhibit on Amelia Earhart's plane," Steve suggests. "Talking about how it was built to cross the Atlantic."

Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, his posture more open and relaxed than it has been since Steve picked him up from the police station. "Lead the way."

* * *

They spend far longer than is probably necessary in the museum, and when they finally come out they're both laughing, grinning from ear to ear. "Man," Bucky sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. "I am starving." He seems to remember himself then, though, and glances at Steve with a sheepish expression. "We should probably get back."

"We could stop somewhere on the way back," Steve offers. "There's a nice diner a few minutes away. It's small, not usually busy this time of day."

Bucky hesitates, but shakes his head. "I can't exactly pay you back anytime soon," he points out.

"My treat," Steve says. "But if you really want to pay me back, when you get back on your feet you can take me out."

Bucky wants to protest, but he knows Steve won't take no for an answer. He sighs, a huge, put-upon sigh. "Fine," he says, smiling. "Lead the way."

* * *

The diner is nice, quiet, and they have no trouble grabbing a table towards the back. A waiter takes their drinks order almost straight away, and when he returns Bucky makes sure to ask for the second cheapest burger on the menu, just so that Steve won't notice that he's doing it on purpose.

The day has been pleasant so far, amiable, but the silence that falls between them while they wait for their food is just the wrong side of uncomfortable. Bucky hates it, wants their easy chatter back; he takes a breath. "So," he says, playing with the straw in his pepsi. "Why the Special Forces?"

"I got scouted for it during my first tour," Steve says. "Colonel Phillips recommended me for... How did he put it... 'Having a damn good head on his shoulders, but the mouth of a smart-ass son-of-a-bitch.' Doctor Erskine vouched for the number of injuries I saved my squad from, usually at my own expense."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says. "But you liked it?"

Steve nods. "Yeah. I got to help directly, a lot of times. Sometimes we were the last resort, but sometimes... We were the only option for getting into tricky situations and resolving them without major loss of life."

Bucky nods too, thoughtful. "But you got out?"

"I - yeah," Steve says, looking down at his plate, posture tensing before he takes a deep breath. "There was an accident."

Bucky straightens up at that, his gaze sharp. "What kind of accident?"

"There was an organization that wanted to... Well, they were all nuts. They thought they could scare the world into giving up its freedom, or something. They had this plane, the Valkyrie," Steve says, still looking at his plate. "It was filled with bombs. We infiltrated the base, but got caught on security cameras. Dumb mistake that almost cost hundreds of thousands of lives. The leader, Schmidt, tried to take off in the Valkyrie, and I managed to get aboard before it left the runway. It was running a skeleton crew and Schmidt. Took the crew out, killed Schmidt, but the controls were fucked in the fight. I had to put it down in the Arctic. Managed to jump with a chute, but it was too close to the ground. Nearly shattered femur, shattered the radius and ulna in my left arm, and very nearly broke my back as well."

Bucky's mouth is hanging open, and he snaps it shut abruptly. "In the _Arctic?_ " he demands.

"My team was able to calculate approximate area of impact, and I landed on an ice shelf and had my own GPS. They found me pretty quickly, but it was still a long road to recovery, and I just... decided not to go back. I was just coming out of recovery when Mom was diagnosed."

"Jesus Christ," Bucky breathes. "Are you-- Are you okay?"

Steve shrugs. "As okay as I can be. Still have occasional nightmares, and aches in my arm and leg, but at least the nightmares have some variety. I've been in a lot of hairy situations."

"I bet." Bucky shakes his head. "I knew you got out, but... I swear I didn't know."

Steve shrugs, a wry smile on his face. "I didn't exactly advertise it. But enough about me, what about you?"

"Oh," Bucky says, his expression shuttering even as he forces a laugh. "Nothing so exciting, believe me."

Steve hesitates, almost pushes - but today's been so good, he doesn't want to ruin it. "What about the future, then? Any plans, hopes, dreams?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Let's see if I have to spend the rest of my life behind bars first, yeah?"

"Oh, come on," Steve cajoles. "You must have _some_ idea of what you want to do when this is all over."

But Bucky says, "I honestly don't know." He smiles, and it's overwhelmingly sad. "Go back to school, maybe? I don't know. I haven't had a dream for a long time."

Steve regrets his question the instant he sees the sorrow in Bucky's smile, but it's too late to take it back. "Well, when all this is over, you'll have plenty of time to find a dream again."

"Yeah," Bucky says quietly. "Let's hope so."

* * *

That day sparks something between them, and suddenly they're a lot more comfortable around each other than they have been this whole time. Bucky no longer gets that itchy urge to launch Steve from the room, even though they make no plans to leave the apartment again. Instead, he finds himself enjoying Steve's company. They cook together, laughing at how pathetic they both still are when it comes to something more complicated than a grilled cheese, and they spend their evenings reading or watching TV on Steve's couch, sitting close enough that their thighs press together. It's good. It's really good.

Until it's not.

Until Bucky wakes up not even a week later from a dream of the two of them, naked and sweaty and panting, to find that he's hard for the first time in at least a year. Probably more. He does his best to ignore it and go back to sleep, but it happens the next morning, and the next, and once, embarrassingly, after a nap he takes in the middle of the day while Steve is making lunch in the kitchen. Bucky supposes it's a good thing that his body is starting to come back online, but he hates it all the same.

It's another week before he can entertain the thought of touching himself without nausea for the first time in even longer. This morning, he wakes up already reaching between his legs, and has to choke back a moan when his fingertips brush against his erection. He feels guilty, of course he does, but he also can't help but love the way his knees buckle when he gets into a steaming shower and finally takes himself in hand.

It takes more effort than it should to bring himself off, but it's so, so worth it.

Of course, between the length of time he just spent in the shower and whatever look is on his face when he comes out, Steve catches on immediately. All he does, however, is grin. "If this weren't such a high-end place I might bitch about you using all the hot water," he says lightly, gentle teasing. Something about the way Bucky's tensed up since Steve looked at him makes him wary of pressing too far or too hard right now. 

Bucky musters up a smirk and busies himself with making coffee to avoid being unable to meet Steve's gaze. "Needs must," he says.

Steve chuckles quietly. "Yeah, they do," he says - but he sounds a bit distracted as he does so, like there's something that's just occurred to him. "Got any plans for today?"

"Nothing more than the usual," Bucky says. "Unless I'm suddenly allowed to leave the apartment by myself."

Steve chuckles. "Sorry, that's still not an option just yet. Hill thinks they're getting close to being able to wrap this all up, though." He's quiet for a few moments and then adds, "Actually, if you don't mind... I was wondering if we could talk?"

"Oh," Bucky says, his brows furrowing. He takes a fortifying sip of his too-sweet coffee and turns to face Steve. "What about?"

Steve hesitates. "About what happened between us. It's - we're getting closer, I feel like, but we never talked about it, we just... kinda fucked off to different lives. It's starting to feel like a much bigger elephant in the room than it was before."

Bucky is suddenly, acutely aware of how much it hasn't felt like an issue to him - and of how selfish that makes him. He's been off in his head worrying about inappropriate hard-ons and wet dreams about Steve, while Steve himself has been worrying about something actually important. Something Bucky should have dealt with weeks ago, probably before he even stepped foot in this apartment.

He sighs, shifts his mug to his left hand so he can run his right through his hair, and doesn't even noticed when a trapped nerve in his left arm makes his hand shake badly enough that some coffee splashes over the sides and onto his fingers. "Yeah, Steve. Of course we can talk."

Steve doesn't miss the tremor, and nods towards the table. "Maybe we should sit down?"

Bucky moves to take a seat in lieu of giving an answer, and spills yet more coffee when he's too quick to set the mug down. He ignores it in favour of folding his hands together and meeting Steve's gaze. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry," he says. "I really, truly am. Losing you on top of losing my dad... It was horrible. The worst mistake I've ever made."

"I believe that," Steve says honestly. "I just... I could never understand why you pushed me away. And you never gave me an answer, even before we started ignoring each other."

"That's because I didn't have one," Bucky admits. "I still don't. I guess part of it... I'd never lost anyone before, y'know? And it brought home just how easy it is to lose someone, and how much it hurts when it's someone you love."

"But that doesn't mean that you push away everyone you love," Steve points out. "It makes you more miserable in the long run, when you don't have any good memories to remember."

"I know," Bucky says, quiet and sure. "I know. I can't even begin to tell you what I was thinking. I just... I was crashing so hard, and I couldn't stand to have you near me."

"You could have told me that," Steve says, a hurt so old it's nothing more than weary now evident in his tone. "Could have said you needed some time and space, instead of driving me away, driving everyone away. I'd have been there, when you were ready for me to be, instead of thinking that you just... didn't care anymore. Or were starting to seriously hate me for hovering, for worrying."

There's little Bucky can do except hang his head in shame, for more than one reason. "I wish I had. I wish I'd told you everything, and I wish I'd called, and I wish I'd been there for you when you needed me. But I can't take any of it back. I'm just so sorry."

"I know," Steve says gently, reaching out to lay a hand on Bucky's. "I know. But we never talked about it, and with how it feels like we've gotten closer, I thought... We needed to talk about it. If we want to be friends again. I thought maybe we were getting there."

"We were," Bucky agrees, his face burning. "But I know you can't forgive me."

"That's not up to you," Steve says mildly. "It's up to me. I don't... I'm not ready to completely let it go, but I'm not going to hold it over you. I'm ready to move on, if you are."

Bucky looks up, his eyes wide, and nods. "I know exactly how much I fucked up back then. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."

It takes more than Steve's willing to admit to keep from telling Bucky just how much he's willing to give.

* * *

Steve feels like they're in some kind of limbo, after that. They're still getting along fine, watching movies and trashy TV together, living in each other's space so easily it's hard to remember sometimes that they're living together because Bucky's in danger. But every so often, Steve gets a reminder - like when one evening, while they're getting dinner set up, Steve hears Bucky shout, " _Fuck!_ " right before there's a crash. Steve turns to see the pan he'd asked Bucky to grab on the floor, Bucky grimacing and holding his left arm. "What happened?" Steve asks, alarmed. He couldn't have gotten burned; the stove isn't even on yet. 

"Wrong hand," Bucky says, rubbing viciously at his left shoulder. "Sorry, give me a minute."

Steve grabs the pan off of the floor, moving it to the counter and giving Bucky a concerned look. "How long has your arm been bothering you?"

The look Bucky gives Steve in turn is bemused. "You know how messed up I am," he says. "It's always bothering me."

"Doesn't mean you can't say something," Steve argues. "I tell you when my leg is acting up."

Bucky shrugs his good shoulder. "I guess I didn't think of it that way."

Steve sighs. "I don't - I don't mean to push. But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen to whatever you want to say. Even if it's just bitching about how annoying it gets, having a limb that won't do what it's told."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "If you want to hear my sob story the least you can do is start dinner."

Steve looks at Bucky for a moment, gauging his expression, but he smiles and nods. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal."

Bucky stays quiet while Steve gets started, but knows he's stalled long enough when Steve gives him a look over his shoulder as if to say, _well?_ He takes a breath. "I don't know what you want me to say," he offers, hugging his arm to his chest. "I guess I broke it, a couple times. And the nerves kinda... got trapped? It won't do what I want it to, sometimes it shakes. It aches pretty much constantly."

Steve hums thoughtfully. "Do painkillers help any?"

"Some," Bucky agrees. "And anti-inflammatories. But not for long. I can ignore it most of the time."

"Yeah, I remember what that was like. How recent was the last break?"

Bucky shrugs. "I honestly don't know. Six months?"

Steve hesitates for a moment, using the fact that he needs to stir the vegetables in the pan to cover the hesitation. "Feel free to tell me to leave it, but... How did it happen?"

Bucky gives him a wry look. "I fell over," he says. "A lot. Hazards of the job."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Job?"

Bucky almost laughs. "Nope," he says, "we're not talking about that."

Steve nods and backtracks. "What about physical therapy?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Bucky says. "Probably won't make much difference now."

"You'd be surprised," Steve says. "I don't know what they do for arms, but with my leg they started out doing super easy stuff. Maybe we could look into some YouTube videos? That'd be enough to give you an idea, maybe."

"Steve," Bucky says flatly, "it's been like this for a really long time. It's fucked."

"Physical therapy can help even amputees who haven't been in for it in years, or never even started," Steve countered. "It probably won't make it perfect, but it might help, the same way just taking the stairs instead of an elevator will never lose you a hundred pounds by itself but it helps keep you in a little better shape."

Bucky grits his teeth, tries a different tack. "I don't have insurance."

That brings Steve up short, but only for a moment. "Well, I suggested YouTube. And Sam and Riley might have some ideas about videos we could start with, if you're okay with asking them. Or we could try to figure it out on our own; between us we've got at least a brain and a half." Steve gives him a quick grin over his shoulder before starting to move the vegetables and meat in the pan to the plates. "I know you've expressed your doubts about whether I've got an entire brain before."

Bucky knows Steve's been talking to his friends about him, but it stings to hear him admit it all the same. He pushes his right hand through his hair and moves up beside Steve to grab a plate. "I'll think about it," is all he has to offer.

Steve nods; he knows that's the best he's going to get right now. "Alright. What do you want to drink?"

"Water's fine," Bucky says. "I'll get it, go sit down."

Steve does, watching Bucky with a slight smile on his face. That's one of the most honest conversations they've had in a while about a topic more difficult than whether or not they liked the new _Star Wars_ movie. Maybe they're making progress; they might not get back to what they had(not that he wants that, Steve tells himself), but... maybe they can have something new. 

* * *

It's a couple days later, and Bucky is feeling good. They saw Sam yesterday, and he recommended some physical therapy videos for them to watch on YouTube; they haven't gotten around to it yet, but they will, and that's enough for now. They've spent the day and most of the evening watching the _Fast and Furious_ movies, curled up together on the couch, and Bucky is so content for the first time in years that he doesn't even notice his arm. It's natural between them in a way that it hasn't been since before Bucky messed it all up at the end of senior year, so Bucky doesn't even question it when Steve suggests they start up the latest movie in his bedroom.

He still doesn't question it when Steve pulls back the covers and gestures for Bucky to join him beneath them, or when Steve lifts his arm in a silent invitation for Bucky to rest against his chest while they watch the movie. And when Letty begs Dom not to leave her, confesses that she still loves him and that she remembers _everything_ , Bucky doesn't question the urge to twist in Steve's arms and tilt his face up for a long, slow kiss. He just does it.

Steve sinks into the kiss, the arm around Bucky tightening, pulling him in closer as his other moves so he can run his fingers through Bucky's hair, his hand settling on the nape of his neck as they pull apart with a quiet sound. "Bucky," he breathes, unwilling just yet to name the emotion he knows is packed into just that one word. 

"Steve," Bucky breathes right back, and Steve knows he feels it, too. "Steve, God." It's the easiest thing in the world to fall back into another kiss.

It's even easier to fall back into bed together, considering they're already in one. Their every move is slow, like they've got all the time in the world to reacquaint themselves with each other. They don't get much further than roaming hands, learning the shape and feel of each other's bodies by touch alone under the covers. Steve says Bucky's name like a prayer when he comes, relishes in the broken-and-put-back-together note in Bucky's when he does the same, Steve's name sounding like a benediction when it slips past his lips. 

They fall asleep soon after, Steve waking first and slipping out of bed to leave a note for Bucky: _Gone to get breakfast; all we have is milk and bread here. I'll be back in a little bit._ Bucky's sleeping soundly enough he doesn't think that he'll be up before Steve gets back, but better safe than sorry. He doesn't want Bucky thinking Steve ran out on him like last night was a mistake. 

The sound of the buzzer wakes Bucky up shortly after Steve leaves.

The first thing Bucky sees when he opens his eyes is Steve's note, so he's smiling as he makes his way down the hall in nothing but yesterday's boxers, and already speaking when he answers the door. "You can't surprise me with breakfast if you forget your keys, dumbass," he laughs. "Did you--" He cuts himself off so abruptly he almost bites clean through his tongue. Because that isn't Steve with two cups of steaming coffee and a bag of bagels on the other side of the door.

That's Brock Rumlow.

Brock gives Bucky a slow once-over, eyebrow rising the whole time. "Well. You've certainly done well for yourself. How long have you been fucking the guy you're hiding behind?"

"Fuck you," Bucky spits, a lot braver than he feels. He grips the doorframe in an effort to keep his hand from shaking. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Brock smirks. "Don't worry, I'll be gone before Steven Grant Rogers, former Special Forces, current night guard at the Smithsonian, is back with your surprise breakfast. I'm just here to deliver a message."

Bucky feels the sweat break out on his forehead, knows that Brock can probably see it. He grits his teeth. "What message?"

"The boss was impressed with your resourcefulness, but he's tired of this little game, now," Brock answers. "He wants you back, James. And he doesn't care who he has to go through to get you, he'll tear them apart."

Bucky's knees buckle. "No," he says. "No, you can't. Steve has no part in this, _please_."

Brock chuckles, the sound sinister in the otherwise-quiet hallway. "Of course he has a part in this - you gave it to him. The noble protector," he sneers. "He fits the part, I'll give him that. But skills and experience won't help against numbers and firepower."

"Stop it," Bucky hisses. "Leave him alone."

Brock shrugs, but he's smirking. "You know it's not my decision - and the boss has already made it. Either you come back, or we bring you back. And you don't have a whole lot of time to think it over."

Bucky can barely hear him for the blood rushing in his ears. "How long do I have?"

"Until I get back to base," Brock says with a casual shrug, turning to leave. "See you soon, James." 

Bucky can't move fast enough, his hand shooting out to grab Brock's arm. "Wait!"

Brock looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"If I come with you now, you'll leave Steve alone?"

"Depends on how much you've told him and if he starts acting like a threat."

"He doesn't know anything," Bucky says desperately. "He's not a threat, I swear."

The eyebrow climbs. "How do you know?"

"I know Steve," Bucky says, because it's true. "If he thinks I don't want him, he won't come after me."

Brock looks Bucky - and his state of undress - over pointedly. "I think it's a bit late for that."

"If I walk away now he'll get the message loud and clear," Bucky assures him, the words tripping all over themselves in his haste to get Brock to understand. "Trust me, he won't come after me."

"So you're saying you'll come with me, right now?"

"I’ll do whatever you want if you promise me he'll be left alone."

Brock considers that for a moment before he nods. "Deal. Let's go."

Bucky's heart starts to race. He spares a futile glance at his watch: he has no idea what time Steve left, but surely it won't be long before he returns. "Let me get dressed," he says, already moving toward the bedroom. "I don't have time to pack."

Brock laughs. "You know you don't need to wear much, anyway. Might as well come as you are."

As much of a hurry as he's in, Bucky still finds time to throw up before they leave.

p

* * *

When Sam lets himself into Steve's apartment later that afternoon, he isn't really sure what to expect - but Steve sitting in the middle of his living room floor, his gaze fixed on the piece of paper in his hands, did not make the list. "So, your text was cryptic as fuck," Sam offers, approaching carefully like Steve is some kind of spooked animal. "I got here as soon as I could, man. What is it? Where's Barnes?"

"Gone," Steve says shortly. His grip tightens on the paper, making it crinkle, threatening to tear. "I thought I could - I left for ten minutes, getting breakfast. While I'm gone, _this_ happens." He waves a hand towards his laptop, sitting on the coffee table, the exterior security camera footage pulled up and ready to play. "Pierce’s fucking attack dog shows up and escorts him out."

Sam takes a few steps closer so that he can see. "Damn," he murmurs. "You sure that's what it is?"

Steve shows him the scrap of paper. There's only a single word on it: _Thanks._

"Thanks?" Sam demands. "For what?"

"For being gullible? A good place to lay low? A good _lay_? Take your pick. But he walked out of here under his own power. I'm gonna drag his ass back to the department as soon as Hill gets me clearance to join the raid they're putting together."

Sam sighs and sits down on the floor beside Steve. "You're not exactly on the payroll anymore, man," he says. "She's not gonna let you go."

"She can't exactly argue with my qualifications," Steve says. "And with the size of the operation she's going up against, she needs every man she can get. She said she'd talk to her captain and get back to me."

Sam's mouth twists, but he lets it go for now. "I just don't get it," he says. "What happened before he left?"

"I fucked up. There were... signs he wasn't being honest with me, and I fucking let my guard down anyway. Thought maybe he could be trusted for ten goddamn minutes."

"Steve," Sam says gently, "this is more than you leaving him alone in the apartment."

"Maybe, but it's not something I want to talk about right now," Steve says rudely, then sighs. "Sorry. But right now, I just want to bring him, Pierce, and every other asshole who works for Pierce into custody. Maybe after that I'll be ready to talk about it."

Sam sighs. "Okay," he says. "Do you know what charges they're trying to bring against this Pierce?"

"Prostitution, kidnapping, multiple assault charges, manslaughter and murder. They're trying to nail him with the whole goddamn book, Hill said. Apparently he's been operating in this area only recently, but he was up north in Maryland first."

Sam whistles, long and low. "And Barnes is involved?"

"They thought he was most likely a victim, an unwilling accomplice. But after walking out of here with Brock, that's being called into question," Steve says quietly. 

"What do you think?" Sam asks.

Steve pulls in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then releases it in a large sigh. "I'm not sure. I can't help but think about his arm, about how awful he looked when I picked him up from the station that night. But then, he's never been straight with me, always avoided the topic of the years we didn't see each other, and he fucking walked out of here with his head high. And once he told me that I wouldn't... that I didn't actually want to know about what he'd been up to, what work he'd been doing, while I was in service. There's too much mud in the water, Sam. But I keep thinking none of it makes sense unless he was involved in whatever Pierce got up to."

Sam nods, thoughtful. "You wanna see him go down?" he asks after a moment.

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. I want the truth, mostly."

"All right," Sam says. "I'll pull some strings, see what I can do."

* * *

Hill's captain isn't exactly enamored of the idea of letting Steve join the raid, but he eventually relents. Steve has to sign several forms and attend a formal debriefing/evaluation, but when he passes the evaluation with flying colors, Fury at least quits scowling at Steve in plain sight. He still tells Steve that if he doesn't follow orders to the letter, he'll be arrested for interfering with an investigation and whatever else Fury can come up with to slap on his record, but all Steve does is nod solemnly. He knows just how much is at stake here, for the entire department. 

The day of the raid, Hill pulls him aside. "I just wanted to make you aware of some witness testimony that just came in from Maryland," she explains. "About Barnes."

Steve goes still, then carefully asks, "What testimony?"

"Some of the people Pierce was selling said he was the one in charge of taking care of them," Hill says bluntly. "We have several positive identifications, as well as testimonies about incriminating conversations Barnes was overheard having about which... _clients_ should be allowed to visit."

Steve swears once, violently. "I _knew_ he was still hiding shit," he growls. "If I'd ever thought it was _that..._ "

"You're just coming along to help apprehend him, Rogers," Hill says sharply. "Don't forget all those papers you had to sign. You follow orders, and don't break rank."

Steve takes a deep breath. "I understand," he says seriously. "Are we ready to leave?"

"Final checks are in fifteen minutes, and then we move out."

* * *

Three teams go out, one for each of the three business buildings they've narrowed Pierce's hideout to. Steve and Hill's team takes the second one, an older building in a run down neighborhood. They know they've chosen the right one when they have to take out several thugs patrolling the building. Their team is quick, quiet, and efficient; Pierce's men never know what hit them. 

Steve and Hill separate, each taking half of their team to sweep the building and clearing it systemically. Steve's team takes the lower floors first, and in the third room, Steve is brought to a standstill after clearing the guards by what he sees on the floor in one corner. 

It's Bucky, and he looks worse than Steve's ever seen him. 

He's shirtless and barefoot, blood soaking through his jeans on one thigh, and he's curling his whole body protectively around his left arm. It looks like it's been dislocated. It takes him far too long to sit up and focus on Steve with his only good eye, the other swollen completely shut; when he does, he groans and slumps back to the floor. "No," he slurs. "No, go away."

Steve taps his mic. "We need medical personnel on site two; we have one victim near unconscious, dislocated arm, possible breaks. Massive bruising, possible internal injuries. There may be other victims in similar state." He's careful when he reaches for Bucky, encouraging him to sit up against the wall so that Steve can better evaluate his condition. "Evans, stay with me. The rest of you, continue sweeping this floor."

"Stop it," Bucky whines, pushing weakly at Steve's chest. "You're not here. I don't wanna."

"Easy," Steve says quietly, shifting a little so that he's not leaning over Bucky and trapping him - in this condition, Steve's pretty sure he doesn't have to worry about Bucky trying to run off. "I need to get a better look at you so the medics can be prepared when they get here."

"S'fine," Bucky sighs, clearly drifting. "He won't let me die."

Steve has an awful feeling about who 'he' is. "Yeah, well, if I have anything to say about it, _he_ won't be getting within a hundred feet of you ever again."

Bucky's answering laugh sounds more like a raspy gurgle. He breathes, "You won't. You're not real," and passes out.

* * *

The rest of the raid is relatively uneventful; Hill's team surprises Pierce, taking out any guards who try to raise a weapon and handcuffing the man himself in only a few minutes. Steve stays with Bucky, making sure his condition doesn't worsen before the medics arrive to take him to the hospital. Steve has to go back to the station first, give a statement about his activities and debrief, but as soon as he can he heads for the hospital. The two policemen outside of Bucky's room let him in with little fuss, and Steve settles in to wait until Bucky wakes up. 

It takes another few hours, but at last Bucky wakes with a groan and a soft curse. "Oh no," he breathes, his eyes still closed as he takes in the scratchy-clean feel of the hospital sheets, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the vaguely floaty feeling of the Good Drugs. "Oh no, he's gonna kill me."

Steve startles in his seat, leaning forward, hand hesitating just shy of taking Bucky's. "Who, Pierce? No, Buck, he can't touch you. He's in a cell on the other side of the city, right in the middle of the station. He's not getting out anytime soon."

Bucky groans again and smushes a hand into his face. "Fuck, they must'a given me somethin' good if m'still hallucinatin'."

Steve bites his lip, but reaches out to gently move Bucky's hand away from his face - and the oxygen tubes attached to it. "I'm not a hallucination, Bucky. I'm here."

Bucky's laugh is cold and bitter. "Nah," he says. "Nah, 'cause Steve wouldn't come near me again. I made sure a'that."

"Well, you leaving pissed him off enough that he joined Hill's team to bring you in," Steve says, voice deceptively light. "I needed to know why the fuck you went back, and what you'd been doing in the past ten years."

"A lotta things," Bucky slurs, candid in a way Steve knows he wouldn't be without the drugs. "Bein' a whore, mostly."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. "Witnesses said you were _in charge_ of the... whores. That you took care of them and decided who got to use them."

Bucky laughs like he's choking on it. "Sure," he sighs. "Yeah. S'all my fault anyway."

"What do you mean, Buck? What's your fault?"

"Everythin'," Bucky murmurs. He turns his face away, his brow furrowing. "M'tired, Steve."

Steve has to swallow thickly before he can say, "Go back to sleep, then, Buck. I gotta go make a phone call."

* * *

The next time Bucky wakes up, he feels a little more coherent. He opens his eyes, takes in what little he can see of his surroundings and, confident in his general stability, sits bolt upright. "Steve?"

"Hey, careful; they just replaced your IV," Steve chides. "You seem more aware this time, that's good. The doctors were worried about that."

"He put me through the fuckin' wringer," Bucky says, settling grudgingly back into his pillows. "The pain relief alone was pretty damn intense."

"Yeah, I saw," Steve says quietly. "I found you in that building. You thought you were hallucinating me."

"Still not convinced I'm not," Bucky says wryly. "It'd explain why you're still here."

"Said it before, but you weren't in any shape to remember anything but how to breathe. I'm here because you managed to piss me off enough I got Hill to bring me on the raid just so I could get the truth out of you. Especially after you just fucking walked out of my apartment with that Rumlow jackass."

Bucky winces. "You should have just left me to rot," he says. "Is Pierce in custody?"

"Yeah. Judge has already denied bail based on the multiple murder and conspiracy to commit murder charges. He's not getting out before this all goes to trial."

Bucky nods, thoughtful. "You think if I ask real nice they'll let me go to a different prison?"

"I don't think you'll end up in prison," Steve says after a moment. "There's a lot of testimony saying you were coerced into everything that happened with Pierce."

"Don't," Bucky says flatly. "You don't know what I've done."

"I know enough," Steve says evenly. "And I know enough about what _Pierce_ did."

"What?" Bucky demands. "What do you think you know?"

"I know he gave you a lot of financial help. I know that Hill and the other detectives have been very busy with interrogations, and that everyone they've interrogated agrees that you were almost _always_ with him. That he considered you a... 'favorite.' That that didn't stop him from using you for a lot of things, from making you do those things. Several people have said they witnessed you being threatened, and beaten when you didn't do what he wanted. That testimony is already entered as evidence in this case, and will probably be brought up in court." Steve's gaze never wavers as he speaks, but he's not glaring at Bucky. He had only seen one interview himself, Brock Rumlow's, but the way Brock spoke about Bucky, about how Pierce and the other high-ranking members of Pierce's gang treated him, had almost been enough to send Steve through the two-way mirror at Rumlow's face. He'd had to take a _very_ long walk to cool off after that. 

Bucky looks away in disgust. "Don't say any of that like I'm some kind of victim," he spits. "I could have stopped it. I could have walked away when I realised what Pierce was doing, I could have tried to help the people he was doing it to. But no. I let him pay my way through college, I let him _fuck me_ , I let him sell all those people to the highest bidder and I let him murder someone _right in front of me_ before I had enough. I _loved_ him, Steve. So don't tell me I'm a victim. I'm just as guilty as he is."

Steve bites back his first retort, something too sharp for the situation. "He was an abuser, Bucky. A manipulator and an abuser. I know you don't believe me right now, you probably won't believe it for a long time, but he was. Maybe you could have done more to stop him or get away sooner," he concedes, "but that doesn't change the fact that you're still a victim."

"It also doesn't change the fact that I went back to him," Bucky snaps. "Why are you still here, Steve? I know you watched that footage back and saw me go. I don't _want_ you anymore, remember?"

"Bullshit," Steve says evenly. 

Bucky blinks at him. "Excuse me?"

"I watched Rumlow's interview. He told Hill what you said, what you acted like when he showed up at my apartment. Even if I hadn't seen that, the way you acted that night, hell, the whole fucking _week_ before you left would have clued me in."

"Hardly" Bucky argues. "You just said it yourself, you went on that raid because you wanted to bring me in."

"Because I wanted to hear the truth from your own mouth," Steve says. "Things weren't adding up, and I'm not the boy you knew in high school. I wasn't going to just drop it, especially not when I was - especially not now."

Bucky is suddenly so, so tired. "Don't," he says. "Steve, just don't. Get away from this."

Steve snorts. "Bucky, I've been in this since I agreed to take you out of that station."

"I made sure you didn't know the truth," Bucky insists. "Now you do, you can get out clean. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve says stubbornly. "Well, I mean I'll have to leave when visiting hours are over, but I'll be back."

" _Why?_ "

"Because I care about you," Steve says. "A lot."

"I'm poison," Bucky insists. "You don't know what I let him do."

"He manipulated and abused you," Steve repeats, tone firm. "If you 'let' him do anything, it was because you knew what he would do to you if you didn't go along with him. Self-preservation isn't poison."

"It started way before he hit me the first time," Bucky confesses. "I fucked up my scholarship and I couldn't afford my tuition. Brock introduced us and he offered to help. I brought it all on myself."

"If Rumlow introduced you, it's likely you were targeted," Steve points out. 

"It doesn't matter," Bucky insists. "I let it happen. I was so blinded by his charm and his money that I just rolled over for him - literally. God, I'd have probably let him sell me like he did all the others."

Steve shakes his head. "Pierce has been doing this for longer than we've been alive, from everything I've seen," he says. "But I'm not going to argue with you about this, not right now."

"So what are you going to do?" Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. "Keep you company, unless you're seriously sick of my face. In which case I'll probably see about harassing Hill into letting me help her with paperwork or something. Or maybe go bother Sam and Riley."

Bucky deflates, exhausted and defeated. "I'm probably just gonna sleep some more," he says. "I won't be much fun."

"I'll still stay," Steve promises, daring to reach over and gently touch the back of Bucky's hand. 

* * *

True enough, Bucky falls asleep soon after that. He falls asleep at the end of visiting hours, and sleeps all the way around until well after they start the next day. When he wakes up, Sam's sitting next to him. "Hey, man," he says with a smile as soon as he sees Bucky blinking himself awake. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Bucky answers. He sighs. "Didn't think he'd last long."

"Who, Steve? I just bullied him off to his apartment to get a few hours sleep, he spent most of last night bugging Hill after he got kicked out of here."

Bucky frowns. "About what?"

Sam shrugs. "He was pretty vague about it - apparently there wasn't a lot she could really let him help with besides paperwork. I think he was just looking for an excuse to kill time and not spin his wheels back at his place."

Bucky rolls his eyes, and then regrets it when the room spins. "He could always go back to work. Not like he needs to babysit me anymore."

"No, he doesn't," Sam agrees. "But he's still worried about you. He wants to see this through to the end. Sharon's already promised him he'll have his job whenever this is over and he's ready to come back."

"Of course." Bucky offers Sam a poor imitation of a smile. "Sorry if I've slept through most of your visit."

Sam laughs. "Don't worry about it; after the madhouse the station was, and the whirlwind Steve is, it was nice to sit in quiet for a bit."

Bucky's smile comes a little easier this time. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but... why are you here?"

"Because I was worried about you, too," Sam says honestly. "I didn't like the look of Rumlow on the security cam, and when Steve told me what condition you were in..."

"I'm fine," Bucky says. "Doc says I'll be out of here in a week."

Sam snorts. "That doesn't mean you're fine. You're one giant bruise, and your arm is in a cast. You may be getting out of here in a week, but that doesn't change what put you in here."

Bucky's smile vanishes. "No," he agrees, looking away. "It doesn't."

Sam tilts his head, expression open, encouraging. "You want to talk about it?"

But Bucky isn't reassured. "And say what?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "Whatever you want or need to say about it. Bottling this shit up never does anyone any favors."

"I'm not hiding from it," Bucky argues. "I know what happened. Steve seems to think I'm some innocent victim, but that's bullshit."

"Is it? The victim part - I think he has that right. Unless you specifically asked Pierce for everything he did to you."

"I asked him for most of it," Bucky tells him.

"So you asked him for the beatings, for the fucked-up arm, for the psychological consequences of all of that? You asked him to kill someone in front of you?"

Bucky glares at him. "No."

"Well, what did you ask him for, then?"

"For his money," Bucky says. "For a roof over my head and food in my stomach. And yes, before you say anything, I did ask him to fuck me. Even when I didn't want it - and I did want it at first, so don't try that either. I should have known there'd be a price to pay."

Sam hums thoughtfully. "Why, though? Why do you accept what you've been through as 'the price to pay'? You think Steve expects anything from you for sheltering you the past couple of months? Think I expect anything for giving you advice about your arm besides you just watching the videos? Maybe there was a price, but to most people it would be a question of money, not your life. That's on Pierce."

"I know it is," Bucky agrees. "Pierce is a piece of shit and I... I _hate_ him. But I brought it on myself and I did nothing to stop it until it was too late."

"But he was the one doing these things to you," Sam points out. "Could you have safely fought him off if you were capable of it?"

Bucky glances almost guilty towards the cast on his left arm. "I don't know," he admits. "I never tried."

Sam nods, understanding. "Well, think of it this way: when you did leave, he sent people after you almost right away. He most likely would have done that if you had left earlier. There's nothing wrong with self-preservation, Bucky. But staying because you know, even just subconsciously, that leaving is dangerous doesn't make what happens to you your fault."

"What about what happened to everyone else?" Bucky asks. "What about that guy he killed?"

"Could you have protected them? Realistically, could you have changed anything about what happened to them? Did you have any power on any of those situations, could you have done anything without risking serious injury to yourself?"

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it again. "No," he admits. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't have tried. Steve would have tried."

"Steve's a dumbass," Sam says bluntly. "He's got more heart and righteous fury than common sense, though he's gotten better than when I first knew him. But you can't know what Steve would have done, because he has never been in that kind of situation. Maybe he would have tried, at first. Maybe he would have succeeded, maybe he would have gotten away - or maybe he'd have gotten himself killed within a year."

"But he'd have died fuckin' happy knowing he was trying to make a difference."

"Or he might have died regretful that his big mouth didn't make a damn difference," Sam counters. "I can play this 'what if' game all day, Barnes, because it's always going to be hypothetical. Steve _wasn't_ there, he wasn't the one in your position, so we have no idea what he might have done. The Steve of even five years ago was a very different person from who you knew in high school, who I knew in basic, and who we know now."

Bucky's mouth twists. "Don't I know it."

Sam chuckles. "I'm sure you do, after living in his pockets for a couple of months. But what I want you to do is remember this conversation, whenever you start thinking you're to blame for anything that happened after you got involved with Pierce. He was the one who decided to do all that shit, and he was the one who either did it or ordered it done. Maybe you could have gotten away sooner, but that still doesn't put the blame on you for what happened. It's gonna take a long time before you even start to believe that, though. Believe me, I've got regrets and worries about what I could've done different as a medic to save more people. Did I make a wrong call that led to that poor bastard dying? That's something I still struggle with. But at the end of the day, all it comes down to is that we did the best we could with what we had at the moment."

Bucky sighs. "I don't know if I can look at it that way," he admits.

"It takes time," Sam repeats. "And a lot of it. It might get easier once this goes to trial. We've got enough evidence to put Pierce to death, and the rest of his goons away for life. Though personally I'd just as soon not waste taxpayer money on them, either, and put them with Pierce."

"I'm still not convinced I'm not going to end up in a cell myself," Bucky says. "Hill hasn't been by yet."

"She's been waiting for you to be a bit more coherent," Sam explains. "Doctors kept her out yesterday because you were only just awake, but she'll probably be by today."

Bucky nods. "Okay." He hesitates, and then asks, "Is Steve coming back?"

Sam snorts. "Hell, he might beat Hill here. I doubt he'll have gotten a whole lot of sleep after I kicked him out of here."

"I don't wanna see him until I've spoken to Hill," Bucky says. "Please."

Sam nods. "I'll let him know," he promises. 

Bucky smiles. "Tell Hill to take her time."

* * *

Sam leaves when Hill arrives, giving Bucky an encouraging smile as he goes. She spends an hour talking to him; it's probably the politest interrogation she's ever conducted. She's thorough, sparing no avenue of questioning until they've exhausted it completely. 

When Hill leaves, Bucky gets a round of visits from doctors and nurses before he's allowed any more visitors. Unsurprisingly, Steve is back in the chair two seconds after the nurse tells him he can come in. "Hey," he says, offering Bucky a smile as he looks him over carefully. "How you feeling?"

"Getting there," Bucky says, though it's mostly a lie. "How long were you waiting?"

"About half an hour," Steve answers. "Right as Hill was leaving. She wouldn't tell me anything, though."

"I asked her not to," Bucky admits.

Steve blinks. "Oh."

Guilt flashes over Bucky's face, but it's brief. "I needed time to think about what she said."

Steve nods hastily. "Yeah, no, I mean - I don't really have a right to know any of that stuff, I know. Sorry, I just... I'm still worried about you, a little. Want everything to go well. Or, as well as possible."

"Well, I'm not going to prison, if that makes you feel any better," Bucky says, a wry twist to his mouth. "Don't even have to go to court; my statement and the evidence they have is enough that they're confident of a conviction, and they don't want to put me in the spotlight."

Steve's embarrassed at how the news makes him sag in relief. "Well, that's good. You don't need that kind of stress, not after everything else that's happened."

Bucky shrugs. "It's not just that," he says. "Pierce has been at this for decades; he's got a lot of friends. The police can't be sure some people won't slip through the cracks, and they're not going to be very happy with me if they do."

Steve frowns. "What do you mean? You can't possibly know everyone in his organization."

"No," Bucky agrees, "but the people who do know me have mouths." He gives Steve a wry look. "Hill wants me to lay low. Indefinitely."

Steve gives a half-smile. "I'm sure. You've left their group for the police twice now in their eyes. They probably won't be too happy about that."

But Bucky shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "They're gonna be pissed I got away."

"You 'got away'?"

Bucky struggles to sit up straighter in the bed, wincing when the movement jostles his cast. "Steve," he says seriously, "I didn't go back to them."

Steve frowns. "Not... willingly?" he guesses. 

"I know that's how it looked," Bucky tells him. "I wanted it to look like that. But he didn't give me a choice."

Now Steve frowns, but it's a thoughtful, concentrating frown. "What do you mean?"

Bucky takes a breath. "He threatened you," he confesses. "As if turning up on your fucking doorstep wasn't enough. He said if I didn't drop everything and go with him right now, Pierce would send people after you, enough people that you wouldn't be able to defend yourself."

Steve sucks in a breath. "Seriously? And you didn't - you couldn't leave some kind of message or anything to let us know that?"

"You think I wanted you anywhere near me?" Bucky demands, anguished. "They weren't interested in you; Pierce just wanted his favourite toy back. If I'd let you know what was happening you'd have barged into that building so much sooner without any backup and they'd have killed you."

"I'm not the hot-headed teenager I was a decade ago," Steve retorts. "I would have gone to Hill, because even I know I couldn't have expected to go into Pierce's headquarters and come out in anything but a body bag!"

"I thought I was going to die!" Bucky cries. "Look at me! The only reason I'm still alive is because Pierce is a sadistic bastard who likes to take his time. I wanted you as far away from that as possible!"

"And you thought it would be better for me to just, what, _leave_ you there?"

"Yes!"

"How?" Steve demands; distantly, he's aware of the heart monitor registering an increase in Bucky's heart rate, but he needs to understand. "Damn it, Bucky, how could you even _think_ I'd let you just disappear? After everything that happened?"

"Because I have form, Steve!" Bucky shouts. "I'm a piece of shit who just pushes you away and breaks your heart for no good reason, and you know that! You know how to move on from that!"

When Steve laughs, it's hollow. "Move on? You think that's what I fucking did? No, it wasn't. I buried it, Bucky, but I never fucking forgot what happened, or really moved on from it. You broke my heart, yeah - but that doesn't mean I quit loving you the first time, or that it stopped me from doing loving you again."

Bucky's mouth works soundlessly for several moments, and when he finds his voice again, it's quiet, small. "Well, it still would have been better than finding out I was dead."

"I would've found out anyway," Steve says bluntly. "You might have delayed it by a few days if I hadn't come, if Hill's raid had been a few days later. But I would have found out eventually, and it would've hurt all the same."

Bucky looks away. "I was trying to protect you," he says. "I thought if you hated me it'd hurt less."

"No," Steve says quietly. "It wouldn't have. There's plenty of evidence besides your own word as to how you were treated. I would have found out eventually, and it still would have hurt."

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Bucky says. He closes his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Steve sighs, giving an apologetic look to the nurse who'd stopped by to check on Bucky. "I know. And we can't change it now; I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry, too."

"Is everything all right?" the nurse asks, looking between them with no small amount of alarm.

Bucky gives her an awkward smile. "It's all good, sweetheart. I just can't see that gorgeous face without getting my motor runnin', y'know?"

She smiles back. "If you need anything, ring the buzzer, okay?"

Bucky winks. "Will do."

Steve waits until the nurse has gone before he speaks again. "You're absolutely shameless," he tells Bucky. 

Bucky shrugs, and then winces. "It's better than the truth."

Steve tilts his head, concedes the point. "So what now?"

"I dunno," Bucky admits. "You can go back to your life now that I don't need you to be my glorified babysitter anymore, and I guess I need to work out what I'm going to do when I get out of this place."

Steve frowns. "Do you... _want_ me to leave?"

Bucky's smile is soft and wry. "I don't really have the right to ask anything of you right now."

"And if I offer? To stay with you until you get this all sorted out, and maybe even after?"

"I'm not really in any position to argue," Bucky points out.

"You can always say no, though," Steve says. "I mean, I would like to stick around until you at least figure out what you're going to do once the big trial is over, but if you don't want to see me, then I'll respect that."

"It's not that I don't want to see you," Bucky tells him.

"Then what is it?" Steve asks, certain his confusion is showing. 

"That I don't know why you want to see me."

Steve laughs quietly, but not meanly. "So you totally missed the part where I fell for you again, huh?"

Bucky closes his eyes. "Steve," he breathes, "it's not that simple."

"Maybe not," he admits, "but we got close these past several weeks, got to know each other again. I care for you an awful lot, Buck. I don't expect anything, but I know what I feel, and I'd like to maybe see where it could go, even if we just stick to being friends."

Bucky swallows hard, looks at Steve like he's searching for something. "You're sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure," Steve says, his gaze steady as he meets Bucky's. 

Bucky himself looks anything but, but he nods. "Okay."

* * *

Steve sticks to his promise, coming by every day to spend time with Bucky, the two of them slowly finding their new balance now that Bucky's no longer worrying about hiding his past. It's awkward and stilted sometimes, one or the other of them stumbling over a topic they're unsure of how to navigate. Like all things, though, they get better at it with practice. Good enough that Steve doesn't hesitate to ask when he sees Bucky frowning at his borrowed laptop's screen. "What's bugging you?"

"I get out in two days," Bucky tells him without looking up. "I can't exactly get a job if I'm trying to keep a low profile, so I'm trying to figure out what my options are."

"Any luck so far?"

"Not so far," Bucky admits.

Steve hesitates, then carefully suggests, "What about moving back up to New York?"

Bucky looks up sharply. "You know the truth now," he says. "You know why I can't see my mom."

"You can't avoid them forever," Steve points out. "And what if they find out about this, or get suspicious about it because they hear something from someone else?"

"They won't," Bucky says. "I'm being kept out of it for my own protection, remember? And I never told them about Pierce."

"You don't have to tell them everything, but they're worried about you," Steve counters. "Have been for years."

"I can't," Bucky argues. "It doesn't matter what is or what isn't my fault, it all boils down to the same thing: 'Hey Mom, sorry I haven't called for the last ten years, but I was off being a whore!' I can't do that to her."

"She's not going to care," Steve says. "Not about that. She's just gonna care that you're alive, and back."

"No," Bucky says, shaking his head. "I can't. I can't have my mom look at me and know that all she sees is what he made me."

"She wouldn't," Steve says confidently. "You're her son, Bucky. She'll never see you as anything other than that."

"You don't know that," Bucky argues. "You can't. And that's just my mom. What about Becca?"

Steve sighs, silence falling between them while he thinks. "What if I talked to them?" he eventually asks. "Try to see how they'd react."

Bucky gives him a wide-eyed look. "What would you tell them?"

"That I got back in touch with you," Steve says after a moment's thought. "That you went through some shit, and aren't ready to tell anyone the full story, but it was really bad."

Bucky sighs. "Okay," he says. "But if they freak out..."

"Then I won't push this with you," Steve promises. "If they freak out in a bad way, not in the 'rally the wagons around Bucky' way."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but there's something vulnerable in the way he looks at Steve. "Fine," he says. "But no details."

"No details," Steve agrees. 

* * *

Steve calls Winifred Barnes that night. It takes him that long to work out what he'll say, how he'll explain things without explaining _every_ thing that's happened to Bucky. He texts first, asking if she can fit in a Skype call and Rebecca is; he's not sure if he's relieved that they're both at home, and ready to Skype. 

"It's good to see you, sweetheart, but you look like crap," Winifred says, studying Steve. "Have you been sleeping?"

Steve laughs. "Hello to you, too, Win. I've been sleeping, but not as well as I could be, I guess. Had a lot on my mind." He hesitates, then decides to just rip the bandaid off. "I heard from Bucky."

Winifred sucks in a sharp breath, and clutches Rebecca’s hand, but Becca is the first to speak. "Is he all right?"

"Honestly? No. But he's doing better than he was when we first got back in touch. He asked me not to tell you guys about him, or what happened. He still doesn't want to talk about the specifics."

"Something's happened to him?" Winifred demands.

Becca doesn't look surprised. "It's bad," she says. "Isn't it?"

Steve nods. "He doesn't want me to talk about the details," he says. "But yeah. It's bad. He's been worrying about your reactions, honestly. That's why he hasn't let me say anything until now."

Winifred turns to Rebecca. "You knew he was in trouble?" she asks. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"He never told me anything concrete," Becca answers. "It sounded like an abusive boyfriend or something. He said he could handle it." She frowns, upset. "But then he dropped off the face of the earth."

Steve hesitates. "It was abuse," he admits. "The guy was... smart. He'd done stuff like this before. He had power, and leverage. But he's not a problem anymore, though some of his friends might be."

Winifred's eyes widen. "What does that mean?"

"The police got involved," Steve says carefully. "The guy was arrested. I can't say any more than that, legally and out of respect to Bucky's wishes."

"But he has friends," Winifred repeats. "Friends that are after Bucky?"

"Might be, if he stays in D.C. He needs to relocate, but he isn't sure where he wants, or needs, to go. I suggested coming back to New York, but he was worried about how you guys would react. He's been through a lot, a lot of it beyond fucked up," Steve says. "He needs a place he can stay with a support network, one that's not going to judge him, or push for details he's not willing to give."

"We're his family," Winifred insists. "We just want to be a part of his life, I don't care what he's been through."

But Becca hesitates. "Can you give us anything?" she asks. "I know you don't want to betray his confidence, but this is serious."

Steve sighs. "It's not just a matter of not wanting to betray his confidence, I'm in legal grey area right now even mentioning this to you," he corrects. "All I can say is that the guy who had Bucky was a fucking shitbag, pardon the language. He really did a number on Bucky."

Winifred glances at her daughter, and turns back to Steve. "Bring him home," she says.

* * *

"So, they didn't freak out like you were worried about," Steve concludes, shifting in his seat to grab his water bottle. "And I don't think they're going to push too hard for any details. Becca might, but I think I managed to convince her to leave it for a good while, at least."

"What did you tell then exactly?" Bucky pushes. "What kind of abuse do they think it was?"

"Becca said she thought you had an abusive boyfriend, last time you guys talked. I didn't say anything to contradict her. I think they think it was a lot of manipulation," Steve says carefully. "I never said his name, and I just kept repeating that he royally fucked you over and that the police are involved, but you didn't want me saying anything more specific. That got Becca to back off."

"That won't be enough for long," Bucky knows. "As soon as she lays eyes on me it'll be the third degree."

Steve frowns. "I know," he admits reluctantly. "But you don't have to answer anything, you know? She doesn't have a right to any information you don't want to give."

"Doesn't mean she'll shut up about it" Bucky grouses. He hesitates. "What did Mom say?" 

"Not a lot. She just wants you to go back to them."

Bucky wets his lips and looks down, processing. When he looks up again his eyes are red. "They really want me to come home?" he asks.

Steve's smile is gentle, reassuring. "They really do."

Bucky sniffles a little, nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay, I think-- Yeah."

"You'll move up to New York?" Steve asks, relief already coloring his voice. 

"Sure." Bucky himself sounds more resigned than relieved, but at least he's not arguing anymore.

Steve hesitates. "Do you... want me to come with you? Moral support?"

Bucky gives him a shaky smile. "Nah," he says. "I won't be up to travelling that far right after I get out of here anyway. I can use that time to try getting my head on straight."

"Maybe you should talk with them? Over text, or email," Steve adds hastily. "Something that gives you time to react, without needing to worry about them seeing."

For some reason, the fact that Steve has kept in contact with Bucky's family the whole time Bucky himself has been in exile hits him now for the first time. He blinks. "Can you... give me their details?"

Steve nods. "Sure. You can use my laptop, we'll set you up an email address, and you can use that until you get back on your feet?"

Bucky nods. "I guess I should get my own phone as well as my own place, huh?"

"Phone, definitely, but... You could stay with me, after you get out," Steve suggests. 

Bucky's eyes widen. "That wasn't a hint."

Steve chuckles. "I know. But why spend money on a new place when you know I have room in mine, and you will probably be moving in less than a few months, anyway?"

"But are you sure?" Bucky asks. "I don't want to mess things up between us."

"I'm sure," Steve says firmly. "I don't think you staying with me for a little while longer will mess things up between us."

Bucky has so few options right now, and he knows it. He folds like a house of cards in a light breeze. "All right," he says. "Thanks."

* * *

"Have you gotten everything packed?" Winifred asks, looking at Bucky with a mix of excitement and concern in her eyes. "Got your train tickets and everything all sorted?"

"Yes Mother," Bucky huffs, the ghost of a teasing grin around his lips. "Everything's ready. I'll get in about six-thirty."

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Winifred chuckles. "I'm just worrying. It’s been so long since you've been back, I want to make sure this goes smoothly."

"Stop making such a fuss and it will," Bucky counters. "I just want things to be as normal as possible, Mom."

Winifred takes a deep breath, then offers Bucky a sheepish smile. "I am making a fuss, aren't I?" she laughs. "Okay, okay. But, indulge your mother and text me updates, please?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, but his smile comes easier this time. "I will," he says. "Tell Becca I love her. I'll see you in a few days."

"I will," Winifred promises. "I love you, Bucky."

Bucky ducks his head, still smiling. "Yeah," he says. "Love you too, Mom."

Steve waits until Bucky and his mom have hung up before he comes back into the living room from the kitchen. "You nervous about heading back up north?"

"A little," Bucky admits, giving Steve a soft smile over the back of the couch. "But I have to go."

"Yeah, you do," Steve says quietly, almost wistfully. "You gonna stay in touch while you're up there?"

Bucky huffs a gentle laugh. "Of course," he says. "If you want me to."

"I do," Steve says honestly. "I don't want us dropping out of touch again."

"Me neither," Bucky says. He hesitates, bites his lip. "I know a lot of shit has gone wrong lately, but... I'm really glad we're talking again."

"The circumstances could have been better," Steve concedes with a chuckle. "But yeah. At least one or two good things came of all that shit."

Bucky's gaze softens. "Steve," he says. "You gotta know that I--"

"I do," Steve says, reaching over to take Bucky's hand in his, squeezing lightly. "I know."

Bucky squeezes back, and his expression turns a little sad; a little wistful. "But I need to go home," he says. "And I... I think we should leave this behind us."

"This?" Steve asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows what Bucky's talking about. 

"Us," Bucky says softly. "I want us to stay friends so badly, Steve, but I think anything more than that is a bad idea."

Steve frowns, but it’s contemplative. "How so?" he asks after a moment; the question is nothing but genuine, an honest attempt to understand Bucky's perspective. 

The look Bucky gives Steve then is heartbreaking. "Before I went back, I thought I could do it, just put everything behind me and move on, with you. But I can't. I'm not ready - and I don't think you are, either."

Steve bites back his first reply, a vehement denial, and makes himself think before he opens his mouth. "Okay," he says slowly. "I do think I'm ready to move on, but I respect that you're not. If you want to hit the brakes on anything more than us being friends, then okay."

Bucky smiles softly. "Thank you," he murmurs.

* * *

Bucky leaves with little fanfare; Sam and Riley come over for dinner the night before, bringing well-wishes and dessert. Steve takes Bucky and his luggage to the station, extracts one last promise to keep in touch, and then watches him go.

His apartment feels way too empty when he finally returns that night.

At first, the promise to keep in touch is kept with no difficulty; even though they only text a couple of times a day, it's still something every day. Then, it drops to once a day day, then to a couple of times a week. Steve tries not to think too hard about what that might mean.

* * *

Almost six months later, and Becca thinks that Bucky's settled in well. She took Steve's warning - and her mother's - to heart. She doesn't ask about Bucky's past, doesn't ask about what went down in those ten years when they heard practically nothing about him. She does, however, ask about Steve just often enough to know that Bucky's not-totally-but-also-is-totally purposefully forgetting to reply to Steve's texts sometimes, because he either doesn't know what to say, or because he feels awkward dancing around the elephant in the room even over text. It's clear to Becca that Bucky misses Steve; he doesn't avoid his family, but whenever he pulls out his phone, he gets a wistful look on his face. 

Becca maybe starts texting Steve a little through Skype after she realizes what that wistful look means.

Still, nothing comes of it until Becca and Bucky are home alone, ostensibly baking cookies but in reality having a flour fight. They and the kitchen are absolutely _covered_ in flour, and it's going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up, but Becca thinks it's worth it for the way Bucky's laughing right now. 

When the doorbell rings, Becca shoves at Bucky with a flour-covered hand. "Go answer it," she says with a grin. "I'm going to get started on cleaning up this mess."

Bucky just laughs and shoves her back, pleased when his hand leaves a powdery-white imprint on her shoulder. "If it's Mom, I'm telling her you started this," he warns, and disappears before Becca has a chance to protest.

The last thing he expects is to find Steve on his doorstep.

Steve offers Bucky a shy, hopeful grin. "Hey, Buck. You look like you've been having fun."

Bucky pushes a floury hand through his hair, which doesn't do much to improve the situation. "Seems my big sister didn't do much growing up while I was away," he offers. "Steve, what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs. "Came to visit you and your family, maybe stay a while," he says evasively. 

Bucky bites back what he refuses to accept is disappointment and nods a little, his mind racing. "Great," he says. "Uhh, come in, I guess."

Steve's smile is more open, more genuine this time. "Thanks," he says, stepping over the threshold. "So, what was all this flour supposed to be?"

"Cookies," Bucky laughs. "I don't know if anything actually made it to the oven, though. Do you have any stuff you need to bring in?"

"Nah, I've already dropped my shit off at the place I'm staying," Steve says, then chokes on laughter when he sees the state of the kitchen. Becca made a little bit of headway, but the kitchen is still a disaster zone. "Oh... My god. How much flour have you guys wasted?"

"Way too fucking much," Becca says ruefully. "I'd hug you, but I'm sure you don't want more of this on you than necessary."

Steve just chuckles and grabs another broom he spots propped in a corner. "Let's sweep up the loose stuff before we go making it all wet and sticky."

"Here for five seconds and you're already ordering us around," Bucky huffs, but he can't hide his grin.

"Because I know you two, and this would have devolved into another flour fight, and then you wouldn't have _anything_ cleaned by the time your mom gets home," Steve shoots back. 

"Which will be in about thirty minutes," Bucky admits, glancing at the clock on the wall. He laughs. "So maybe we should listen to the good captain."

They manage to clean up the kitchen and even get a batch of cookies into the oven before Winifred gets home. She's delighted to see Steve, wraps him up in a hug as soon as she catches sight of him - and then frowns at the flour in his hair. He sheepishly admits that he may have flicked some flour at Bucky, who threw some back. Becca pretends innocence, and Winifred seems to buy it, even as she casts a suspicious look at the brand-new bags of flour on her kitchen counter.

Steve stays through until dinner, chatting and catching up with the Barneses. He's missed them since moving away from New York, never gets up to visit as much as he should, he readily agrees when Winifred points it out. All he says after that, however, is that he's planning on seeing them more often.

After dinner, Steve and Bucky volunteer to clean dishes, Bucky drying while Steve washes. It's the first chance they've had to be alone, and Steve gives Bucky a slight smile. "You seem like you've settled in pretty well up here."

"Yeah," Bucky agrees, ducking to hide a bashful smile. "It took a little adjusting, but... You were right. They're my family."

"They've been good for you?"

Bucky nods. "They're not pushing too much, which is good. I'm starting to feel like I could be normal again."

Steve smiles as he hands over the next plate. "Good. You deserve it, you know? The whole shebang."

Bucky's answering smile is weak, and he looks away. "Maybe."

"You do," Steve says, voice firm with belief. "But I'll keep saying it until you believe it."

Bucky winces, and because he's a masochist, he changes the subject. "So how long are you in town for?"

"A while, hopefully," Steve says. He's watching Bucky carefully when he adds, "At least a couple of months."

Bucky blinks. "That long?" he asks. "Where are you staying?"

"At the apartment my mom left me," Steve answers. "I've just been leasing it out, but it's been empty for a couple months since the last tenant's lease was up."

Bucky blinks again, and relaxes just a fraction. "Oh," he says, almost sighs. "I don't know why I didn't think of that. I thought for sure you were just staying in some hotel."

Steve grins. "I mean, I _could_ but that would be expensive as fuck."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You could have stayed here."

"I would have, if the apartment hadn't been free," Steve reassures him. "Besides, I... I'm thinking of staying. Here. In New York."

Bucky looks at him sharply, askance. "You're staying?"

"Thinking about it," Steve says. "There's an opening here for security at the Museum of Natural History that I was offered. Shannon got in touch with the head of security of a couple different places, gave a good reference for me. And flying to DC and back isn't that expensive or long of a flight to visit friends, or have them visit."

"But," Bucky begins, and the words die a horrible death in his throat. He swallows and tries again. "Your whole life is there. What's here?"

"My life of the past few years is there," Steve corrects him. "But... Well, you're here. So's your family, who aren't happy I haven't visited in a while. And I didn't have a _life_ in D.C. outside of my friendship with Sam and Riley. I had a routine."

Bucky finishes drying the last plate and lets the dish towel fall limp in his hands. "What are you saying?" he asks.

"I'm saying that I've really fucking missed you," Steve says, drying his hands and turning to face Bucky. "I thought we'd be fine, staying in touch and maybe with me coming up to visit you and your family, but..." He laughs, the sound a bit hollow. "It wasn't enough. It was worse than the last time, in high school. I missed you so much it hurt. Kept turning to talk to you, show you something. Kept having to remind myself that you were gone, and it never got easier."

"Steve," Bucky murmurs, his eyes wide. "I miss you, too. But leaving DC, giving up your job and being close to your friends to move to New York... I'm not worth all that."

"I think you are," Steve says honestly. "I think _we're_ worth it. Whether that's friendship or more."

"And what do you want?" Bucky asks warily.

"Truthfully? I want you. I'd love to be _with_ you, but that's not a requirement. If all you want is to be friends, then I'm fine with that." Steve's expression is open, not hiding anything as he looks at Bucky. "I can't finalize any kind of move for a while yet anyway, so we've got time for a... trial run, I guess."

Bucky laughs. "A trial run? That's not going to work, Steve."

”Why not?” Steve asks, equal parts apprehensive and hopeful. 

Bucky ducks his head, as though suddenly shy. "'Cause if we get into this," he confesses, "I ain't letting you go again."

Steve takes a chance, stepping forward so that he can take one of Bucky's hands in his, squeezing gently. "I wouldn't mind that," he confesses. "I'd rather not let you go, either."

"I'm a mess," Bucky warns him, though he lets himself be reeled in. "I've been going to a lot of therapy but my arm's never gonna work right again and neither's my head. I'm gonna be a lot of work."

"I've got my own baggage," Steve reminds him. "Been working on it longer, but it's still there. But I'm up for the challenge if you are."

Bucky smiles. "I think I am."

"Just kiss already!" Becca yells from outside the kitchen door.

Steve grins, moving in closer to Bucky. "Should we give her the satisfaction?" he asks, tone teasing but expression turning serious, waiting for Bucky to give the okay. 

Bucky grins and drops the towel so he can touch Steve's face. His hand only shakes a little. "I think so."

Steve's grin matches Bucky's. Kissing him feels like coming home. 

* * *

Steve does move to New York, and he and Bucky take things slow. They go on dates, taking their time reacquainting themselves with each other before they go tumbling back into bed. It takes a few months for Steve to ask Bucky to move in with him, and it's almost six months to the day since Steve moved to New York before they get everything in place to do so. 

They have a housewarming party that doubles as a bit of a celebration; Pierce's trial just received a unanimous guilty verdict, and Pierce, Brock, and the other higher-ups have been sentenced to life in prison without parole. Sam and Riley travel up from D.C., and even Natasha swings by. They keep the celebration about Pierce quiet except for a toast of 'good riddance to bad trash' and a fervent wish for karma to exact her swift justice on the bastards; Bucky still hasn't told his family that it was Pierce he was involved with, though Steve's fairly certain they've put the pieces together. 

As things start winding down, Steve finds Bucky in their bedroom, taking a break from the small crowd. "Hey," he says quietly, knocking on the doorframe with a slight smile. "You okay?"

Bucky looks over and smiles back. "Yeah," he says. "Just needed a breather. Are you?"

"I'm doing pretty good," Steve concedes, coming over to sit down next to Bucky. "Relieved that Pierce is finally dealt with."

"Aren't we all," Bucky agrees. He takes Steve's hands in his. "But that's not what we're focussing on tonight. He's not taking this night from me as well as everything else."

Steve grins, wide and proud. "That's the spirit," he says, giving Bucky's hand a squeeze and leaning in for a kiss. 

Bucky meets him halfway, and sighs against his lips. "I love you," he murmurs.

”I love you, too.”


End file.
